LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The first soldier shook his head, his eyes dark with frustration. "He freed us from the Borgias. That's not something we can ignore. But why? Why would someone as powerful as him go out of his way to break the mark? What does he want from us?"

The scarred woman shot him a glare. "Don't you get it? He didn't do it for us. He did it because it entertained him. We're just… pawns in whatever game he's playing."

Nearby, Donovan, Theran, Miriam, and Mikhail stood in silence, overhearing the conversation but choosing not to participate. They exchanged uneasy glances, their exhaustion etched into their faces. They, too, had questions. What was Lyerin's endgame? Was he truly done with them, or were they still part of his twisted amusement?

A group of younger soldiers, huddled near the remnants of last night's fire, began whispering frantically. "There's no way back," one of them said, his voice trembling. "We're stranded here. Do you really think there's a way to Earth? No one's ever talked about it. No one's ever come back."
Enjoy new tales from empire

Another soldier leaned in closer, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. "What if… what if this world doesn't let us go? What if we're stuck here forever?"

The words sent a ripple of panic through the group, their murmurs growing louder and more frantic. A few soldiers turned to glance at the massive crimson tent where Lyerin resided, its fabric rippling faintly as though alive.

"He knows something," one of them said, his voice desperate. "He has to. He's the only one who could possibly get us out of here."

Inside the tent, Lyerin sat at a blackened stone table, his expression calm but his mind far from idle. Before him lay a parchment inscribed with strange, shifting glyphs, their shapes constantly morphing as though alive. His fingers drummed idly against the table as he read, his silver eyes scanning the text with a detached focus. Around him, the air buzzed faintly with residual mana, a testament to the ritual he had performed the night before.

Suddenly, the faint sound of voices reached his ears. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp hearing picking up the soldiers' frantic conversations outside. Their fear and confusion were palpable, and for a moment, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Ah," he murmured softly, his voice almost melodic. "They're finally starting to grasp the reality of their situation. How delicious."

He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the armrest as he listened intently. Their desperation amused him, but it also intrigued him. What would they do now, these so-called soldiers who had been freed from one chain only to find themselves ensnared by another?

The flap of the tent rustled as a figure entered, bowing deeply before speaking. It was Lucas, the commander of the soldiers and the one who had been most vocal in supporting Lyerin's plans thus far. His face was etched with concern, his brow furrowed as he approached.

"Lord Lyerin," Lucas began, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. "The men… they're anxious. They've been asking questions, and I don't have the answers they need. They want to know… how do we leave this world? Now that we're free of the Borgias' mark, how can we return to Earth?"

Lyerin didn't respond immediately. He tilted his head, his silver eyes locking onto Lucas with an intensity that made the commander's breath hitch. For a moment, the tent was silent, save for the faint crackling of mana in the air. Then, Lyerin leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand as he regarded Lucas with a faint smile.

"Ah, the age-old question," Lyerin said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. "How do we go back? Such a simple question, and yet the answer… is far from simple."

Lucas swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the parchment on the table. "Is it possible, my lord? Can we… can we return to Earth?"

Lyerin's smile widened, and a faint chuckle escaped his lips. "Anything is possible, Commander. But whether it is feasible… now that is another matter entirely."

Lucas clenched his fists at his sides, his frustration evident. "Then tell us, my lord. What must we do? What do you need from us to make it happen?"

Lyerin leaned back again, his gaze turning thoughtful. "Patience, Commander," he said softly. "Patience and… trust. I've already done more for you and your men than you realize. But all things take time."

Lucas bowed his head, his jaw tightening as he struggled to suppress his growing anxiety. "Yes, my lord," he said quietly. "We trust in your wisdom."

Lyerin waved a hand dismissively. "Good. Now leave me. There is much work to be done."

As Lucas exited the tent, the soldiers outside turned to him expectantly, their eyes filled with hope and fear. But Lucas could only shake his head, his expression grim.

Lyerin, meanwhile, sat alone in his tent, his smile fading as his expression grew cold and calculating. "Fools," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. "Do you truly think freedom comes without a price?"

…

The morning sun had barely begun to rise, its golden light stretching lazily across the dense, untouched wilderness that surrounded the encampment.

The air was still and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and morning dew.

Soldiers, weary from restless sleep, slowly stirred from their tents, their movements sluggish and their faces marked with exhaustion.

A quiet murmur of routine filled the camp as they began to prepare for another day in this unfamiliar, unsettling world.

But then, it happened.

At first, it was subtle—a faint glow that crept along the edges of the horizon, soft yet oddly persistent.

It was unlike the gentle light of dawn or the sharp illumination of fire.

Instead, it was something entirely alien, a brightness that seemed to pulse and ripple as though it were alive.

Those who noticed it first squinted in confusion, their hands shielding their eyes as they tried to discern its source.

"What… is that?" one soldier muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The glow intensified, spreading outward like an unnatural tide.

It bathed the surrounding forest in hues of pale white and shimmering gold, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance and writhe across the ground.

The murmur of conversation ceased as more and more soldiers turned their attention toward the strange phenomenon, their expressions shifting from confusion to unease.

A younger soldier stepped out from his tent, his hair disheveled and his armor half-fastened. He froze mid-step, his eyes widening as the light reflected off his pale, sweat-slicked face.

"What in the hells is that?" he said, his voice trembling.