The Genesis of the Dead
'What is my purpose?' He thought as he gazed at the carnage that surrounded him. With every step he takes countless perish, with every action countless mourn. Behind him legions so vast they cover the horizon and blot out the heavens. His soldiers, servants, friends, children. 'That's right.' He remembered with a tinge of melancholy, 'This is my purpose.' Author's note: High fantasy setting, with a heavy emphasis on action, army tactics, political schemes and world building. No harem and very little romance.
Chapter 49
"Vithorian, are you alright?" Mira's voice trembled with concern as she leaned closer to inspect her friend's serious injuries. Her eyes darted over his battered form, trying to assess the extent of the damage.
"I'm fine, mas—Maveth had some alchemical concoction that healed me right up," Vithorian replied, his voice steady but guarded. He masked the fact that he had nearly blown their cover by almost addressing Maveth as "master."
"Let me see," Calion said, stepping forward to check on him. Although Vithorian's robe was torn and damp with what appeared to be blood, he seemed uninjured, much to everyone's relief. Calion exhaled in visible relief. "Good. As long as there's no pain, you should be fine. How much more of that stuff do you have?" he asked, directing the question toward Maveth.
"Very little," Maveth replied, his tone calm but serious. "It also comes with some drawbacks. Thankfully, Vithorian has a resistance to them."