The Last Legendary System

The explosion came behind him. Inside the shelter.

"What the—"

With a step, the Nouveu Protector appeared at the entrance of the shelter, which was a good distance away from his position. "I’ll handle it here."

"How?" Benign watched the man leave without replying. He kept both ears at his front and back.

Another mine erupted at a distance to the left. The patterns changed, but the people were already hidden. Only those dragging survivors remained.

"If there’s a mine in the shelter." He turned to the building. Someone rushed out. "What is it—"

"The portal collapsed. It shut down, and those injured can no longer be taken to the headquarters."

Benign bit his lower lip. The portal answered how so many could enter the shelter and find refuge at the same time. It also solved the problem of having fewer survivors to worry about.

With this development, fear would spread faster than his orders. "Keep them coming."

Benign turned back to the shelter. First aid treatment could keep the injured alive while those with magic worked to get the portal up and running.

Nouveu Protector walked out of the shelter. "They will handle it. Focus on getting the survivors to safety."

The order made Benign hesitate. The old man slowly raised two fingers to his mouth, and a louder whistle pierced the battlefield.

Deep growls answered before large wolves burst from behind the shelter, startling the ones dragging survivors to safety.

Bang. Bang.

Both bullets missed. Benign clicked his tongue, watching the wolves’ grey fur race across the grass. They split apart immediately, each choosing different directions while barking over one another.

"What sort of attacking sequence is this?!" Benign frowned. "Are they yours?"

The old Protector frowned at him. "Yes. You nearly killed them."

"They nearly killed the ones you said I should save..." Another chain of explosions erupted, with one wolf barely escaping after changing direction too late.

Benign pointed toward the circling Firewing. "Tell them to follow the Firewing."

The old man blinked. "What?"

The Firewing swerved sharply between explosions before landing beside another wounded soldier.

It grabbed the survivor’s clothing and lifted him away moments before another mine exploded beneath them.

Understanding flashed across the old Protector’s face. He raised both hands. "Follow the Firewing!"

The wolves immediately obeyed.

They stopped choosing their own routes and instead chased after the bird as it darted through the battlefield. Within seconds, they began dragging wounded soldiers away far quicker than before.

Benign nodded once. They had their own rescue pattern now. The Firewing found survivors while the wolves reached for them. The humans lifted the injured ones on top of the wolves to return to shelter.

"LEFT!" The wolves changed direction.

"RIGHT!" The civilians followed.

"MIDDLE!" The Firewing flew ahead.

The old Protector folded his arms. "Interesting. One would think Lady Alana sent you here to be the commander."

Benign dragged his eyes from the battlefield to the old man. "Commander? Isn’t this the mission I was sent to do here?"

The old man said nothing.

Minutes passed, and the panic that ruled the battlefield slowly gave way to silence. Benign counted the men working with the wolves and Firewing.

There were fewer than five. A group of three entered the shelter, but only one came back out. His brows furrowed. "Are they taking breaks already? What about the ones that need care?"

"The portal isn’t ready yet. No one is treating them."

"What?" Benign pushed his revolver into his pockets. He reached the shelter just as the wolves brought another injured survivor inside.

Two men, who had been assisting outside, rushed to carry the injured down. The wolf sprinted off again.

"This isn’t enough."

The small walls of the building were lined with beds already filled with groaning men. No one to treat them. More patients kept coming to occupy the little space on the ground.

Benign looked back at the battlefield one last time. While death covered the grass, not every silent body belonged to the dead.

"I’ll stay here. Keep the rescue team working."

The old man hummed in response.

Benign stepped into the small shelter. The bustling and explosions faded into groans and soft footsteps. Two elf girls called for cloth and medicine.

His brows raised when he didn’t hear a call for water. Blood soaked the stone floor while rows of tired men lay wherever space remained.

Some sat against the walls while others stared blankly at the ceiling with clenched jaws. Benign stopped in front of one of them.

While the battlefield changed, the wounds had not. He watched a young elf press a soiled cloth against a man’s stomach with both hands shaking.

Tears filled her eyes while the soldier bit into his sleeve to stop himself from screaming. "It still won’t stop... Zina..."

Another elf knelt beside her, fumbling with a bandage. She wrapped it twice around the wound before tying a knot with trembling fingers.

The blood soaked through immediately.

Benign walked over. "Stop."

Both girls looked up.

The second one glared at him. "If you’re here to criticize, then grab another patient."

Benign knelt without answering. He untied the bandage, exposing the wound again. Sand and dirt remained trapped inside while blood still flowed.

"You should clean it first."

The girl folded her arms. "He’s bleeding."

"He’ll still be bleeding tomorrow if infection starts today."

Without waiting for permission, Benign grabbed a clean cloth from the nearby supplies. He poured water over the wound until the dirt washed away before picking out the remaining debris.

The injured soldier hissed.

Benign never looked away from the wound. "It’ll hurt more later if I don’t do this." He reached for a small, familiar bottle of medicine. "Now you can use this."

He cleaned around the wound before pressing a folded cloth firmly against it. The blood slowed, and only after the bleeding weakened did he wrap the bandage.

The soldier let out a long breath. "Keep it going, you two." Benign tied the knot and left where he knelt.

The elf girls stared silently. Neither spoke.

"Some of you can learn what I just showed them." Benign told the men resting by the walls. "Make this quick for all of us."

Some men slowly trudged forward. "Thank you." Benign told them as he stepped out again.

He winced as the sunlight pierced his eyes. He exhaled. "I’m tired." He muttered.

The old Protector walked to him, carrying an injured man over one shoulder. The injured man was dropped roughly on the ground.

Two wolves lurked quietly, ready to pounce. From their movements and the man’s unusual clothes, Benign could tell the injured man wasn’t their own.

"He is an Olienian spy found amongst the rest."

Benign tilted his head. The old man once told him that Olien didn’t involve themselves with the Protectors.

Also, this man resembled a human more than the lizard-men he met. He reached for the revolver in his belt. "Is he responsible for any death here?"

"I’m not." The Olienian replied immediately. "I am simply a spy to watch the Protectors and report back."

Benign lowered his gun. "That’s okay then."

"It is?" the old man frowned.

"Yes. You can’t expect them not to have a spy when you’re in their land." Benign shrugged. He looked down at the man whose green eyes narrowed keenly at him. "Is there anything else?"

The man flashed his teeth.

"Would you want to meet with our King after today?"

Benign tilted his head. Looking at the condition of the place, an invitation to meet a King would be among the dumbest next course of action.

"Why do you think he’ll want to meet me?"

"You have a mark he’s looking for." The man’s eyes narrowed at the back of Benign’s hand. "This is something I have been tasked to confirm as well. You have the last mark of the Olienian Prince."

"Olienian Prince..." Benign’s hands dropped to his side.

His throat still ached with thirst. His fingers were numb from firing. Yet Benign’s brain nerves surged with neurons as he heard the slander.

Of all the accusations he had experienced. ’This man claims that I am an Olienian Prince.’

’A race of lizards?’