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Consciousness returns in fragments, like torn shreds of mist. You feel dizzy and weak, but most importantly, you feel a familiar, solid weight in your hand. The Spear of Longinus is still in your hand; its ancient power seems to have subsided, leaving only a ghostly echo of its might.
Images flash before his eyes. The Lord feels himself being carried through caves. Cold stone gives way to damp air, then to suffocating stuffiness again. He hears the muffled voices of Green and Father Tuk, their words reaching him through a cottony haze. They talk about the path, about caution, about him being unconscious for too long. Then the cave air is replaced by a hot, dry gust, and the Lord realizes he is back in the desert. The bright sunlight, though muted by the cave entrance, stings his eyes. Sand crunches under the feet of those carrying him.
Stars, like diamonds on black velvet, replace the cave ceiling. The desert nights are cool, and their freshness brings some relief. The Lord didn't know how much time had passed, but he felt that he had been brought out from the depths of the earth. His body is exhausted, but his mind, as if cleansed, retains the echoes of the ancient knowledge that the Spear had bestowed.
The Lord's consciousness remained in a fog. The sensation of being carried was replaced by the shifting reality of a long, grueling journey. He felt the desert heat even through his drowsiness, heard the crunch of sand that filled his boots, and the muffled voices of his surviving warriors. They spoke of him, of the Spear, of the path. The Spear of Longinus was still in the Lord's hand, as if it had grown to it. Its weight had become a part of him, and its presence was felt as a constant hum in his mind, an echo of the ancient knowledge it had imparted. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of the overload he had experienced, or perhaps it was a new, permanent state associated with possessing such an artifact.
Images flashed before his eyes: endless dunes, the scorching sun, starry nights that he crossed in the arms of his men. His body was exhausted, but his spirit held on, thanks to his unbending will and, likely, the very power of the Spear. The delirium of the desert mixed with the echoes of the revelations received in the cave, creating a strange, surreal reality.
Eventually, the faint smell of greenery and moisture broke through the hot, dry air. The sound of water, the rustle of palm leaves—these were the sounds of salvation.
Consciousness returned abruptly, as if the Lord had been pulled from deep water. He opened his eyes and saw a blue sky above him, and around him, the green of palm trees and the glint of water. He was lying on soft sand, in the shade of date palms. The air was cool and clean, filled with the scents of life. The party, diminished but alive, was gathered around. Green, his face gaunt but his eyes shining with concern, sat beside him. Father Tuk was dozing, leaning against a palm trunk, his hands clutching his rosary. Hassan was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. The other warriors were also resting, some sleeping, others watching the horizon.
The Lord tried to move, and Green immediately noticed he was awake. His face lit up with relief. "My lord! You're awake!" he exclaimed, his voice full of sincere joy. "We brought you here. You were unconscious... for almost three days. But the Spear... it never left your hand for a moment."
The Lord feels weak, but his head is clear. The Spear of Longinus, still clutched tightly in his hand, no longer hummed, but its presence was tangible. He is alive, and he holds a legend in his hands. He gives Green a weak nod, the words barely registering. The physical exhaustion and the incredible influx of information from the Spear of Longinus take their toll. His body refuses to obey, and the Lord sinks back into oblivion, but this is not just sleep.
In his mind, images of ancient battles flash by, truly massive in scale. He sees battlefields that never existed in history books, hears the clash of steel and the war cries of long-forgotten armies. He feels the tension of waiting before an attack, the fury of hand-to-hand combat, the bitterness of defeat, and the triumph of victory.
All this time, information flows to the Lord from the commanders of antiquity. These are not just dry facts, but an intuitive understanding of strategy, tactics, and logistics. He sees huge armies moving across landscapes, generals making split-second decisions, their orders affecting the fates of thousands. The Lord feels their wisdom in choosing the moment to strike, their composure under a hail of arrows, their ability to inspire and lead. This knowledge permeates every cell of his mind, transforming his understanding of war and leadership. Time and space lose all meaning as he immerses himself in this stream of ancient experience. The Lord becomes a witness and participant in long-past eras, learning from the greatest strategists who ever held the Spear.
Through the fog of consciousness, through the prism of ancient battles, the Lord breaks through to reality again. He still feels weak, but now the surroundings seem less hostile. The air has become thicker, and he can hear the hum of many voices that were not with them in the caves. He opens his eyes and sees the worried face of Father Tuk. His brow is furrowed, his gaze full of anxiety, but also immense relief at his awakening. The priest is sitting beside him, ready to help. He is saying something, but the words don't yet form a coherent sentence.
In the distance, through the general din, the Lord hears the clear, sharp commands of Green. His voice is recognizable; he is directing, organizing. This can only mean one thing: they have reached the Eastern Road, where the main forces of the expedition were waiting for their small party. He has returned from the depths of the earth and the desert, and his journey is over.
The feeling of the Spear of Longinus in the Lord's hand remains unchanged—it is still there, heavy and silent, but its presence now feels more like a part of him than a separate object. The visions of commanders have receded, leaving behind only a deep, intuitive understanding. His journey from the depths of the earth is complete. He is safe, among his own people, and he holds the legendary Spear of Longinus in his hands.
The brief awakening was followed by a rising fever. The body, exhausted by the trials of the underworld and the colossal influx of ancient knowledge, finally gave out. The Lord was seized by a high fever. He sinks back into a semi-conscious state, where memories of the cave, images of ancient battles, and the hot desert merge. The Spear of Longinus, still in his hand, pulses with a faint but perceptible warmth.
In this critical moment, Green takes command without the slightest hesitation. His face, which had previously expressed relief, becomes focused and stern again. He immediately issues clear, sharp orders. The sound of horns echoes across the Eastern Road, breaking the silence of the desert landscape. It was an alarm signal that meant only one thing: the Lord of the North is in danger. This sound instantly mobilizes all the expedition's forces. The camp comes alive, tents are quickly struck, and people hastily gather their belongings. The entire party, including the main forces that had been waiting for them on the Eastern Road, is on the move. No more rests, no more long stops.
The expedition moves by forced march. Their goal is to get the Lord and the Spear of Longinus to a safe place as quickly as possible, before the desert heat or new dangers can take advantage of his weakness. In his delirium, the Lord feels the jolting of movement, hears the tramp of feet, the creak of wagons, and the muffled voices of his men, clearly following Green's orders. He is returning, but in a very grave condition.
In his burning delirium, as his body was wracked with fever, he felt every movement, every jolt. The tramp of feet grew louder, the air filled with shouts. The Lord vaguely realized that something was wrong. Through the fog of consciousness, Green's furious voice reached him: "Forward! No stops!"
The marauders' fortress stood in their path once again. The same one that might have once posed a threat. This time, however, there was no time or desire for negotiations or cunning maneuvers. The Lord's condition demanded an immediate and safe retreat. The grenadiers and line infantry, battle-hardened and loyal to the last, moved forward as a single, relentless machine. Their formation was flawless, their determination unwavering. The roar of muskets, cries of attack, and the clash of steel rang out. This was not a siege, but a swift assault. Without waiting for orders, in perfect formation, with bayonets fixed, they swept it away. The resistance of the marauders, accustomed to easy prey and intimidation, was powerless against the fury of disciplined troops. The handful of bandits was simply wiped off the face of the earth. The fortress fell quickly and ruthlessly. There were no losses on the side of the northern warriors, only the dust from the destroyed fortifications and the smell of gunpowder in the air. The path was cleared.
The sound of the horn that had swept across the Eastern Road was not just an alarm—it became a call to arms. Far across the desert, where other crusader parties were forging their own routes or awaiting reinforcements, those powerful, piercing notes reached every ear. And they responded. From all sides, from behind dunes and horizons, warriors began to flock. They galloped on horseback, their battle standards fluttering in the wind; dusty figures hurried on foot, leaving clouds of sand behind them. Every one of them heard the call and knew what it meant: the Lord of the North needed them.
All the crusaders who heard it gathered under Green's command. He, with his unquestionable authority and composure, quickly and efficiently integrated the arriving units into a single, powerful column. Their faces were covered in dust and sweat, but their eyes burned with determination. Every crusader who joined understood that not only the honor of fulfilling his duty awaited him. News of immense riches, of ancient secrets, but most importantly—of the traditions of the North—had reached him. Everyone understood that a reward awaited him in the Mead Mug. This was not just a symbol, but an unbreakable oath, a guarantee that their Lord remembers his loyal warriors and will reward them for every step, every battle, every drop of sweat and blood. Their loyalty and courage would be generously rewarded. The expedition, once dwindling under the onslaught of the desert and ancient traps, had now transformed into a powerful, united army, driven by a single purpose and loyalty to their Lord.
Under Green's leadership, the expedition had transformed into a small, well-organized army. The horns continued to sound, gathering scattered crusader units. They were no longer just explorers, but a combat column moving through the desert. An advance guard of line infantry and grenadiers marched ahead, clearing the way. Mounted units moved on the flanks, ready to repel any attack. In the center, under heavy guard, moved the stretcher where the Lord lay, still holding the Spear. The forced march continued. Days blended into nights in continuous movement. The warriors, hardened in battle and loyal to the end, carried their burden without complaint. They moved with perseverance, knowing that they were carrying not only their Lord but also the greatest relic, capable of changing the destiny of their people.
The continuous forced march seemed to last an eternity, but finally, the horizon began to change. Ahead, silhouetted against the desert sky, familiar outlines appeared. It was the Mead Mug—the citadel of the North. The Lord's vision was still blurred by the fever, but he could vaguely make out movement on the walls. The sentries were already hastily opening the gates, their figures flitting hurriedly against the backdrop of massive towers. They must have seen the huge cloud of dust raised by the marching party and, hearing the continuous call of the horns, realized that the Lord was returning. The sound of the horn was passed from one watchtower to another, like an echo, amplifying with each passing mile. This chain signal not only announced their arrival but also served as a guide for the party, allowing them to advance without slowing down. The fortress seemed to open its arms, preparing to receive its wounded Lord and his tired but triumphant warriors. Still delirious, the Lord felt a wave of relief wash over the party. The goal was achieved. The long and dangerous journey was over. He had returned home, bringing with him something far greater than just treasure.
The massive gates of the "Mead Mug" swung open with a creak. The exhausted but triumphant warriors poured into the fortress without breaking stride. And then, as the Lord's stretcher crossed the threshold, a figure broke from the crowd waiting at the gates. It was Katya. Her face, usually calm and composed, was now contorted with anxiety, but her eyes shone with immense relief. Heedless of the dust and commotion, she rushed straight to the stretcher. She was the first to meet the expedition, her presence as much a comfort as the fortress itself. Her hands immediately fell upon his feverish hand, the one clutching the Spear of Longinus. The Lord heard her ragged breathing, her quiet words full of relief, though they were lost in the general noise. She was here. The warriors around them sighed with relief upon seeing her. The care of the Lord was now passing into capable hands. Green, his face gaunt but now showing relief, nodded to Katya, wordlessly handing over command of the situation.
Katya, your Guardian of the North, wastes no time. Her anxious gaze slides over his burning face and the Spear of Longinus in his hand. She doesn't understand the full depth of what has happened, but her protective instincts kick in instantly. She immediately starts giving orders, her voice, usually calm, now sharp and commanding, cutting through the hubbub of the arriving expedition. "On all the watchtowers!" she commands. "Let the same horn sound! The one that announces: 'The Lord of the North is in danger!' Repeat every five minutes! Everyone on the walls—reinforce the watches and patrols! No one is to enter or leave the fortress without my personal order!"
Her orders are relayed with incredible speed. On all the watchtowers of the "Mead Mug," powerful, urgent horn signals begin to sound, their echoes spreading across the surrounding area. The warriors on the walls instantly redouble their attention, their gazes piercing the desert. The entire fortress goes on high alert. Katya understands that the danger the Lord was exposed to might have followed him. Or his transformation, the power of the Spear, might attract unwanted attention. She doesn't know what he has faced, but her task is to protect her Lord and her fortress at all costs.
Through the dense, silent ring of the "Legion of the Dead," he feels the stretcher begin to move again. He is being carried, but now not across the uneven desert, but through the familiar stone corridors of the "Mead Mug." The Legion's steps are measured, their movement silent and efficient. The Lord hears doors opening and closing, the muffled noise of the fortress gradually fading. Finally, the movement stops. He is lowered onto something soft and familiar. He feels warmth and comfort. These are his and Katya's chambers. The "Legion of the Dead," having fulfilled its duty, does not disperse. The Lord feels their aura, their silent presence, surrounding him. They line up around the chambers, forming an impenetrable perimeter, their dark, menacing figures filling the corridor leading to his doors. None of them make a sound, but their intention is clear: they are here to protect. Their protection is absolute. The Lord hears muffled voices outside, feels someone's presence, but no one can get through. No one except Katya is allowed past this living barrier. Even Green and Father Tuk remain outside, their loyalty and concern unable to break through the Legion's unyielding formation. He can only hear their voices, coming from behind the invisible wall. The Legion, true to its ancient purpose, has cut him off from the entire world so that he can fight the fever and comprehend the mysteries of the Spear in complete isolation and safety. Katya is now his only link to the outside world.
In the dim light of the Lord's chambers, under the silent but reliable guard of the "Legion of the Dead," Katya nurses him with gentle but unwavering devotion. Her cool hands touch his burning forehead; she gives him water, changes the compresses, her quiet, soothing voice the only thread connecting him to the outside world. She asks no questions, simply acts, following the instincts of a guardian. The Lord's fever slowly but surely recedes. As the heat subsides, his consciousness clears, and he begins to realize a new, more subtle danger. The flow of ancient knowledge from the Spear of Longinus, which was previously an uncontrolled waterfall, now feels like a constant but still enormous pressure. He understands that he needs to wall himself off from this stream of information, or his brain will melt. The human mind is not capable of endlessly absorbing millennia of others' experiences and wisdom.
Gathering the last of his willpower, the Lord begins a process that feels like building an internal dam. He learns to control the intake of information, to receive it in doses. It's like learning a new sense: focusing on certain aspects, tuning out unnecessary noise, filtering the endless stream of knowledge. The Spear, as if it were a living being, seems to respond to his will, its aura becoming less overwhelming, allowing him to control it. Slowly, he learns not to be just a vessel, but to become a conduit for this ancient power, choosing which lessons from the commanders of the past he will learn, what knowledge of the universe he needs now, and what can wait. This is the beginning of a new chapter not only for him but also for the Spear, which, it seems, has found someone for the first time in millennia who is capable not just of wielding it, but of understanding it.
The Lord's hand still grips the Spear of Longinus in a death grip, and this grip now seems not just physical, but a spiritual connection. It was the right decision. The chaotic flood of ancient knowledge that threatened to tear his mind apart has now become a manageable stream. Now, information flows into the Lord's brain that he can accept and comprehend. It is not only the wisdom of ancient commanders but also insights into the structure of the universe, forgotten technologies, and the forces that move this world. He feels that each day of his recovery brings not only physical healing but also a profound transformation of his consciousness. The Lord learns, grows, and each piece of knowledge he accepts only expands his capabilities, without overloading them. The fever gradually recedes, taking with it the last remnants of weakness and delirium. His body recovers, his muscles regain their former strength, but his mind is no longer the same. He is becoming something more than just the Lord of the North. With each day, he moves closer to full control over the Spear's power, ready to use it for good or ill, according to his will. The Lord acquires not just a relic, but an entire legacy, accessible only to him.
The Lord awakens in his chambers, with Katya beside him. His citadel, the "Mead Mug," is now not just a home, but a fortress-bank. It has become a safe haven for the Spear of Longinus, the world's greatest relic, and the center of his people's new power. Not only material wealth but also the knowledge brought from the depths of ages will be stored here. After the urgent call of the horn and the rallying of the loyal crusaders, Katya, his Mistress of the North, showed her unbending character, instantly taking control of the situation and ensuring his safety. The "Legion of the Dead" stood as a wall, protecting him, proving their silent but absolute devotion. He is the Lord of the North, ruler of a prosperous principality that has become the shadow heart of the entire Empire.
The Lord cannot deny that the Spear possesses properties that go beyond ordinary understanding and his usual worldview. It draws him in, evokes an inexplicable attraction. This is not just intuition or curiosity; it is a feeling that penetrates deep into his being. His body has already undergone a transformation, and his mind has learned to dose and comprehend the colossal flow of information, making him "something more than just a man." Perhaps it is this transformation he has experienced that allows him to feel and perceive the magical essence of the Spear, despite his rational mindset. For the Lord, this is not just an artifact; it is a challenge to his beliefs. He feels its power, its call, realizing that it is something more than just an ancient weapon or a source of knowledge. This heralds a new stage in his development, where science and pragmatism may merge with what was previously considered magic. His pragmatic and scientific mind cannot ignore the inexplicable power of the Spear, and he naturally tries to unravel its mystery using his familiar methods. This is a unique approach that distinguishes him from others. It will be a long and difficult process, but for the Lord of the North, it is not only a scientific challenge but also a way to understand the nature of the new power that has become part of his Empire and, perhaps, part of himself.
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