Chapter 18

Ozil was awoken by a numerous murmur, and he could feel a numerous pain throughout his body, blinking away the remnants of sleep, Ozil surveyed his surroundings. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the cave walls, adding an air of mystery to the atmosphere as his mind is muddled a face of an elf suddenly flash in his memory, making him stood abruptly.

"Guys, he's finally awake!" a voice exclaimed, its high pitch reverberating through the room like a resounding echo.

Ozil's senses gradually sharpened, bringing him into the realm of consciousness. As the fog of slumber lifted, he became aware of the intense scrutiny directed his way. The weight of numerous gazes bore into his being, penetrating deep into his core. It was as if he had become the focal point of a gathering of hawks, their eyes fixed upon him with unwavering curiosity.

A sense of vulnerability washed over him, leaving him momentarily unsettled. The intensity of the stares was palpable, each gaze a piercing needle, prying open the chambers of his consciousness. Questions hung in the air, unspoken yet clamoring for answers. The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in anticipation of his awakening.

As Ozil's vision cleared he saw three familiar faces across the room, one female and the other two is male.

The man who had exclaimed and approached Ozil's bed was a small, skinny orc. He stood at around 5'5 foot tall, which was quite short for an orc, and his frame was so thin that he almost appeared frail. However, despite his diminutive size, there was a certain confidence in the way he carried himself.

His skin was a dark green hue, and his hair was a mess of wiry black locks that stuck out in all directions. He had a small, pointy nose and sharp cheekbones that gave his face a somewhat angular appearance. His ears were pointed and slightly elongated, marking him as a member of the orc race. Despite his thinness, his arms and legs were wiry and muscular, and he moved with a certain agility that belied his appearance.

"Brother Ozil, it's been a while," the small-looking orc named Kocek greeted Ozil with genuine eagerness, his voice filled with warmth and familiarity.

Ozil nodded in acknowledgment but maintained a curious gaze. "Greetings, Kocek. What made you come to visit me?" Ozil inquired, his tone laced with curiosity.

"We heard that you got beaten up, so naturally, as your friends, we had to come and visit you," Kocek replied, his face etched with genuine concern. The worry in his eyes mirrored the depth of their friendship, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering support.

Ozil's heart warmed at the sight of Kocek's genuine care. He had always been there for him, both on and off the battlefield. In the barracks, they had forged a friendship that surpassed mere camaraderie. They were brothers in arms, always ready to lend a helping hand when the other needed it.

"We are also here to help you exact your vengeance against those who dared to lay a hand on you," Kocek continued, his voice filled with anticipation.

Ozil's nod conveyed his understanding. He knew that Kocek was the type of person who would stand by his side, no matter the circumstances. Through thick and thin, they had proven their loyalty to one another.

However, a frown creased Ozil's forehead as his eyes fell upon the other two figures in the room. His mind was filled with curiosity and a tinge of suspicion. 'I can understand why Kocek would come to my aid,' he thought, 'but what brings Lagartha and Moroth here?'.

Moroth, a towering figure among orcs, possessed an air of regal distinction that set him apart from his kin. His muscular frame exuded strength and power, standing as a testament to his noble lineage. Despite his orcish heritage, Moroth carried himself with an air of refinement, displaying impeccable manners and a keen sense of diplomacy.

'Moroth probably being here has something to do with crown's race in a few years but as for Lagartha?' Ozil began to wonder as he stares in Lagartha.

As Ozil's gaze shifted towards Lagartha, he couldn't help but be intrigued by her presence. Lagartha stood tall and graceful, exuding an air of quiet confidence that demanded attention. Her striking features and fierce countenance revealed a warrior

, honed through battles and hardships.

With long flowing locks of fiery red hair cascading down her back, Lagartha possessed an unmistakable air of fierce independence. Her piercing blue eyes held a glint of determination and a hint of mystery, reflecting a soul forged in the fires of battles.

Clad in sturdy armor, Lagartha emanated an aura of strength and resilience. Every piece of her battle-worn attire bore the marks of countless skirmishes, a testament to her prowess on the battlefield.

Lagartha, sensing Ozil's intense stare, met his gaze with an unwavering glare. Her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, and her lips formed a slight scowl. In a voice laced with a hint of frustration, she broke the silence.

"Am I not welcomed?" Lagartha's words cut through the air, her tone sharp and tinged with defiance. The intensity in her eyes matched that of Ozil's, creating an electric tension between them.

Ozil continued to fixate on Lagartha, his gaze unyielding and filled with curiosity. It wasn't her mere presence that intrigued him; it was something deeper, something unspoken. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes, as if Lagartha's response had only heightened his interest.

"Okay, you got me," Lagartha finally relented, a defeated sigh escaping her lips. The frustration in her voice had softened, giving way to resignation.

"As you know my teacher, has a peculiar fascination with the elf," Lagartha explained, her tone tinged with a mix of exasperation and resignation. Her presence here was not entirely of her own volition; she had been assigned to monitor and assist Ozil, as her teacher believed his encounter with the Void Walker's power held great significance.

Although Ozil nodded in understanding he knew that it was more than that, "We need to prepare for more as we might be facing a 5th level arcanist," Ozil spoke, his voice filled with a mix of determination and caution.

"Enlightened?" The crew exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowing in confusion. The report they had received indicated that the target possessed only three orbs, which typically corresponded to a 3rd level - Coalescentia arcanist. The information seemed incongruent with the term "Enlightened," which suggested 5th level of mastery in arcane.

Moroth, known for his attention to detail, meticulously reviewed the report once more, his eyes scanning the words for any hidden clues. His furrowed brow deepened as he tried to make sense of the apparent discrepancy.

"The report only suggest that it is just a 3rd Level arcanist" Moroth asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity.

"Would I fall in this condition if it is just a Coalescentia?" ask Ozil in a frustrating voice, the reason he was reduced to this state is because of his strategy were all rendered useless against an overwhelming power.

Moroth nodded in understanding, it is ridiculous enough that a 4th level shaman was defeated by a 3rd level arcanist, let alone Ozil who was respected in their barracks back in years as Ozil can defeat one level above his level and the reason for that is because of his ability to adopt quickly in the battlefield and create a strategy.

Lagartha couldn't resist taking a jab at Ozil, as she always enjoyed teasing him. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The once acclaimed genius, now reduced to a bedridden state with broken bones everywhere," she mockingly remarked with a mischievous grin.

Ozil had always been known as a prodigious talent among the instructors and his peers. Many believed that he had the potential to reach the esteemed level of a 7th level shaman known as the "Shepherd." His natural affinity for magic and his exceptional intellect were undeniable, but there was one major obstacle standing in his way: his laziness.

Although he had immense potential, Ozil had developed a habit of slacking off and indulging in his love for sleep. He possessed a laid-back demeanor that often veered towards complacency. Instead of actively seeking opportunities to enhance his powers, he preferred to wait for them to come knocking at his door.

Despite the criticisms, Ozil's easygoing nature remained unchanged. He would shrug off their concerns with a casual smile, believing that he can just figure out everything, and would eventually fall into place. Little did he realize that his complacency might cost him dearly, as evidenced by his current state of being bedridden.

Now, lying in a hospital bed with injuries that could have been avoided had he been more proactive, Ozil had plenty of time to reflect on his choices. The consequences of his laziness had become glaringly evident, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for not harnessing his potential when he had the chance.

As he contemplated his future, a newfound determination began to spark within him. The surrounding mana around him began to condense and as if a pack of hungry of wolves it began to collide on Ozil's soul. Ozil could feel his Spirit landscape expanding as if it discovered a new space.

"Did you just breakthrough?" Kocek exclaimed, and in Lagartha and Moroth faces, a surprise could be seen.