Arran ran through the night, every step he took bringing him closer to the heart of the battlefield.
Even in the dark, the treacherous terrain posed no real problem. He was strong enough to cross even the deepest gorges in a single leap, and his powerful body could easily endure hours of running.
The thickening Essence that surrounded him, however, was a different matter. His resistance to magic was strong, but it wasn't limitless. And as dawn approached, he felt that the violent Essence was beginning to cause him harm.
He had expected this, though perhaps not quite as soon. Days earlier, he'd already realized that the battlefield held far more destructive power than anything he had encountered in Uvar. And as he neared the heart of the battlefield, it would only get worse.
While the pressure of unbound Essence grew stronger, the landscape grew less chaotic. The land here had been eroded by the violent magic, and although the earth still bore scars of battle, many of those had begun to fade.
Yet even as the terrain grew less hostile, Arran's progress slowed to a crawl. By now, the pressure of Essence was weighing down on both his mind and his body, and his reddened skin was starting to blister.
When he saw this, he groaned in frustration. Not at the pain, but at what it meant.
There were still days to go before he reached the heart of the battlefield. And if he was struggling even now, then his body would give out long before he reached his destination.
That his destination lay at the center of the battlefield, he knew for certain. If Elder Nikias's belongings had not been looted already, then they would be where the Elder had fallen. And that could only be at the very heart of the cataclysm.
Despite his misgivings, he struggled onward for several more hours after dawn, forcing his body to endure the ever-increasing assault from the unbound Essence around him.
Yet by midday, he realized he could not go on. Already, his skin was covered in burns and blisters. And while his injuries healed faster than Negin's, he knew it wasn't enough.
Not with days of travel still ahead.
If he continued, the burns would grow worse with each passing hour, draining his strength as his body expended energy to heal. And as he grew weaker, he would heal more slowly, which would make him grow weaker still.
It was a simple yet vicious process, and one he had no defense against.
As it was, he was already nearing his limit. If he continued, he had no doubt that he would suffer the same fate as Negin sooner rather than later. Except he had no companion to carry him back to safety.
He could not help but curse in frustration at the setback. Of all the obstacles he could have encountered, he had not expected unbound Essence to be the one that ruined his plans.
His resistance to magic was among his greatest strengths, and it was the one thing he hadn't expected to fail him. But now, it did just that.
Arran briefly considered his options, and found them to be depressingly few. He lacked the time to train his resistance to magic, he was unwilling to turn back empty-handed, and continuing onward would cost him his life.
That only left one choice: to use the recruits' pills. And he already knew those wouldn't be enough to get him to his destination.
At most, the pills would buy him a few more hours. A day, if he was lucky — and only if he didn't travel much farther into the battlefield. Which meant he wouldn't be able to find the treasure he was after.
Yet disappointed though he was, he knew that all was not lost. Not yet.
Elder Nikias wasn't the only mage who had died on the battlefield. His students, too, had fallen to the Hunters' trap, killed in the same battle that had taken their teachers' life.
The Ninth Valley had been robbed of Elder Nikias's teachings in one fell swoop, with only a single mage still retaining some slight knowledge of the Forms — Anthea's teacher, who had been a mere novice at the time.
But to Arran, the tragedy presented an opportunity. While he lacked the strength to reach the site of Elder Nikias's demise, the Elder's students might have fallen in other places. And if they had, their belongings might still remain there.
Including, hopefully, any notes they had on the Forms.
Arran knew it was a distant hope, but not an unreasonable one. And, more importantly, it was his only hope. Because whatever lay at the center of the battlefield was firmly out of his reach.
His path decided, he took one of the recruits' pills from his void ring, then gave it a cursory examination. But the pill revealed nothing to his untrained eye, and after a moment's hesitation, he took it in his mouth and swallowed it.
Several minutes passed without any effect, but then, he felt the pressure of the unbound Essence around him grow slightly less oppressive.
The effect was undeniable, but it was also disappointingly small. Against the violent torrent of unbound Essence that raged around him, it offered no more protection than a silk robe against a sword.
Arran sighed, then took a handful of pills and swallowed all of them.
This time, the effect was better. A feeling of warmth spread through his body as the pills took effect, and the pressure of Essence weakened considerably. It wasn't enough to block the onslaught entirely, but it would stop his condition from worsening.
For a time, at least. Because Arran knew from Negin that the pills' effects would only last a few hours. And although he had dozens of the pills, that would still barely last him a day.
Fully aware of how little time he had, he left at once, this time moving around the center of the battlefield rather than toward it. And as he walked, he focused on his sword's Sense, anxious to detect even the slightest hint of treasure.
It barely took an hour before he discovered something, but he was disappointed to find that it was only a starmetal sword, buried beneath two feet of earth. A treasure to others, perhaps, but all but worthless to Arran — though not so worthless that he would leave it behind.
In the hours that followed, he found several other starmetal weapons, swords and daggers both. All of these were buried beneath the crumbling rubble, which was likely the reason others had not already found them. But with the help of his sword, Arran had no difficulty finding the weapons.
Yet while he found plenty of weapons, there was no sign of void bags or rings. This was not much of a surprise — in his final battle, Elder Nikias had killed thousands of Hunters, while he only had a small number of students.
But even if the lack of success wasn't a surprise, it still caused Arran some worry. The pills' effects had begun to fade by late afternoon, and although another handful had renewed his protection, he knew his time was running short.
His worries increased further when his sword detected another shard of Living Shadow barely half an hour later. Avoiding the Knight — if it was a Knight — was a simple matter, but making his way around the obstacle while keeping a safe distance wasted nearly a full hour of his time.
Arran continued his search as night fell, though with each passing hour, his hopes grew dimmer.
The battlefield was enormous — numerous miles of empty wasteland, enough to house a small kingdom. His sword's unrivaled Sense gave him a chance of success, but no more than that.
Whether he succeeded would depend on luck, and as the night progressed, he began to suspect that his luck had finally run out.
But just before dawn, several hours after he'd swallowed the last of his pills, his sword found something at the very edge of its Sense. A mile or two toward the center of the battlefield, a small enchanted object lay buried in the ground.
In an instant, Arran's hope was restored. He knew his time was running short, but without so much as a moment's hesitation, he set off at a run toward the buried object.
The pills' effects were already starting to wear off, but with success within reach, Arran barely noticed the blisters that were beginning to form on his skin. If a few moments of pain earned him the prize he sought, it was a trade he would happily accept.
When he reached the location where the item was buried, he promptly began to dig into the ground with his sword. He could feel that the weapon did not approve of this use, but he had no time to take his sword's feelings into account — not with thin strands of smoke already rising from his skin.
Only moments later, he found a small ring, hidden in the dirt. A void ring, he knew.
He snatched the ring from the ground at once, then stored it within his own void ring. There would be time to inspect its contents later.
As he ran away from the heart of the battlefield, there was a broad grin on his face, his joy only slightly marred by the fact that parts of his skin had caught fire.