The wind howled across the vast expanse of the plains separating the Royal Magic Academy from the distant kingdoms. Kertia and his companions had returned from the ruins, their minds heavy with the knowledge that the darkness they faced was only the beginning.
The eight kingdoms, once peaceful and united by fragile alliances, now whispered rumors of unrest. Strange undead sightings were increasing, creeping closer to the borders, unsettling villagers and soldiers alike.
In the capital city of the central kingdom, a grand council convened within the marble halls of the Royal Palace. Kings and queens, generals and mages, all gathered to discuss the growing threat.
Kertia, summoned as a representative of the academy and bearer of the Guardian's legacy, stood quietly among them.
The throne room was vast, adorned with banners representing each kingdom. Yet beneath the grandeur was a tense undercurrent of distrust and fear.
King Arion, ruler of the central kingdom and a proud warrior, was the first to speak.
"This darkness threatens all of us. If the undead armies spread unchecked, our lands will fall. We must act decisively."
Queen Selene of the northern kingdom nodded, her eyes cold and calculating.
"But how can we trust that young necromancer? Some say his powers are a curse."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Kertia stepped forward, his voice steady despite the weight of scrutiny.
"I understand your doubts. But the power I wield is born from the Guardian's sacred duty—to protect the balance between life and death. I am here to serve the kingdoms, not to threaten them."
A council mage, robed in dark velvet and bearing the insignia of the southern kingdom, sneered.
"Many have claimed divine favor before. And many have fallen. What makes you any different?"
Kertia met the mage's gaze without hesitation.
"Because I have seen both worlds—the divine and the mortal. I have walked the path of a god and now walk among men. I carry the responsibility of both."
The council's debate grew heated, voices rising and falling like a tempest.
Arielle, standing beside Kertia, whispered, "This is politics—more dangerous than any battlefield."
Tomas tightened his grip on his staff. "We must convince them to unite."
After hours of deliberation, a tentative alliance was formed. The kingdoms would pool their resources and intelligence to combat the rising undead threat.
Kertia was appointed leader of the newly formed Vanguard—a special force combining magic, military strategy, and necromantic knowledge.
Back at the academy, preparations began in earnest. Students and instructors alike trained day and night, honing their abilities for the battles to come.
Kertia found himself at the center of a growing storm of expectation. The fragile boy once dismissed was now a symbol of hope—and a target for those who feared his power.
One evening, as Kertia practiced controlling a battalion of skeletal warriors, Arielle approached with grave news.
"There have been attacks near the eastern borders. Villages burned, people taken—or worse."
Kertia's jaw clenched. "We must move quickly. The darkness spreads."
Under the cloak of twilight, the Vanguard assembled. Soldiers, mages, and necromancers marched toward the eastern front, ready to face an enemy unlike any before.
Kertia rode at the forefront, his skeletal commanders flanking him, their hollow eyes glowing with unwavering loyalty.
As they neared the borderlands, the air grew thick with decay. The ground was littered with broken weapons and shattered shields—a grim testament to recent battles.
Kertia dismounted, feeling the familiar chill crawl over his skin.
"This is where we begin," he said softly.
The battle that followed was fierce and unforgiving. Undead forces, far larger and more coordinated than anticipated, surged forward in relentless waves.
Kertia commanded his undead legion with precision, their movements fluid and deadly.
Flames met bone, steel clashed with shadow, and magic crackled in the stormy sky.
Despite the overwhelming odds, the Vanguard held their ground.
Amidst the chaos, Kertia's thoughts flashed to the prophecy that had accompanied his divine awakening—a warning of a coming darkness that could consume not only the kingdoms but the very fabric of existence.
He steeled himself, knowing this was only the first of many battles.
As dawn broke over the bloodied fields, the Vanguard emerged victorious but battered. The cost had been high, and the war was far from over.
Kertia surveyed the horizon, determination blazing in his eyes.
"For the living and the dead, I will stand," he vowed.
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