The Glitched Mage-Chapter 69: Purifying the Land

Mal's breathing was steady, but the weight of Riven's presence lingered like a brand against his skin. He kept his head bowed, feeling the heavy silence pressing in from all sides as the remnants of the kingdom chanted their devotion. The sound carried through the ruins, a mixture of desperation and worship, a people clinging to the promise of their king's return.

Riven let the moment stretch, allowing them all to feel the gravity of it. Then, his abyssal flames flickered and receded, the pressure in the air easing slightly. The murmurs of the gathered crowd softened, and Mal finally lifted his head, silver eyes unreadable.

"Show me," Riven commanded. "If you and Damon have truly done anything worth keeping, then show me."

Mal hesitated for only a second before nodding sharply. He rose, brushing off the dust from his dark robes, and motioned for them to follow.

"This way," he said, his voice returning to its usual smooth control, though there was an unmistakable weight in it now. A lesson learned.

Damon fell into step beside him, clearly relieved that his own punishment had passed—for now. Krux and Nyx trailed behind, exchanging glances, while Aria moved without a word, her gaze lingering on her brother.

They walked through the ruins, the skeletal remains of the once-mighty Shadow Kingdom surrounding them. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and decay, yet beneath it, there was something else. Life.

It became clearer the deeper they went into the heart of the encampment. What had seemed like a gathering of survivors on the outskirts was only the beginning. Tents and hastily built structures gave way to reinforced stonework, salvaged from the ruins. Old tunnels had been cleared, leading to underground chambers where supplies were stored. The remnants of ancient towers had been turned into watchpoints, manned by trained sentries.

Mal led them through narrow streets lined with makeshift dwellings. People parted as they passed, eyes wide, some whispering, others too overwhelmed to speak. They were warriors, mages, healers, and refugees—those who had refused to abandon the land even after its fall.

"I did what I could in the time I had," Mal said quietly. "We arrived in the human realm with nothing but the clothes on our backs. It took time to find the remnants of our people, to secure what little land was still salvageable. This… is all that remains."

Riven's expression remained impassive as he observed the encampment. His kingdom—his throne—had once commanded fear and respect, its reach extending far beyond these ruined walls. Now, it was a shattered fragment of what it had been, barely surviving on the fringes.

Still, he could see the bones of something greater beneath the ruin.

"How many?" Riven asked, eyes scanning the camp.

Mal didn't hesitate. "Roughly three thousand, but not all are warriors. Many are non-combatants—civilians, elders, children. Those who fled when the capital fell, those who were hunted but managed to survive. We have maybe five hundred fighters fit for battle, though only half are properly trained."

"Numbers are weak," Krux muttered, crossing his arms. "And the ones that aren't fighters… How many of them are even strong enough to withstand a war?"

Mal's jaw tightened. "Not many. Which is why we've been focusing on securing food, shelter, and defenses rather than pointless battles." He glanced at Riven. "Our land is dead. The Solis Kingdom made sure of that when they salted the fields after the war. Nothing grows here. If we can't fix that, it doesn't matter how many people we have."

The mention of the Solis Kingdom brought a sharp silence over the group.

Salted earth.

A cruel, deliberate tactic.

It was a final insult—a way to ensure that even if the Shadow Kingdom's people returned, they would have nothing left.

Riven's fingers twitched. His abyssal fire surged at the edges of his control, the very thought of Solis daring to believe they had the right to destroy what was his igniting something dark in his core.

"Fixing the land isn't an option," Nyx muttered. "Once soil is poisoned, it's dead. No amount of waiting will change that."

Mal shook his head. "Not necessarily. There are ways to counteract the damage, but it would take time. We need either powerful earth mages or an alternative method to create sustainable agriculture." His gaze flickered toward Damon. "We've tried what little earth magic we have, but it's not enough."

Damon sighed. "I can shift the ground, clear debris, strengthen foundations. But reversing something like this?" He shook his head. "I ain't strong enough for that. We need something else."

Riven's gaze turned toward the darkened landscape stretching beyond the encampment. A kingdom was more than just its people—it needed land, resources, power. Without fertile land, rebuilding was meaningless.

But he refused to let Solis dictate the fate of his kingdom.

Riven's thoughts stirred as he considered the poisoned land beneath his feet. He hadn't relied on the system in some time, but now, as he faced the monumental task of restoring his kingdom, he knew it was a resource he couldn't ignore.

'System,' he commanded silently, 'is there a way to reverse the damage to the soil?'

For a moment, there was no response. Then, the familiar, mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[[ Analysis required. Please provide a sample of the affected soil. ]]

Riven exhaled through his nose, already moving. Without a word, he stepped past the boundaries of the encampment, his boots crunching against the brittle, lifeless earth. The others followed at a distance, sensing something unspoken unfolding.

Stopping a few paces into the barren wasteland, Riven knelt. He scooped up a handful, letting the grains slip through his fingers before tightening his grip on what remained.

[[ Scanning… ]]

A shift in the air.

Riven felt it immediately—a pulse of unseen energy gathering around his hand. The system's magic surged, tendrils of deep, spectral mana weaving through his fingers, analyzing, dissecting. The ruined soil pulsed faintly in response, as if the land itself was reacting to the foreign presence.

The air around Riven shimmered faintly as the system's energy continued to pulse, weaving into the grains of dead earth in his palm. The others stood behind him, watching in silence, their expressions unreadable.

Then, the system spoke.

[[ Analysis complete. Identified contamination: High concentration of salt-based alchemical compounds, residual necrotic energy, and elemental disruption. Restoration possible via targeted purification process. ]]

Riven's grip tightened around the brittle soil. "Explain."

[[ Two primary solutions detected: ]]

[[ Option 1: Large-scale purification using Earth and Water elemental magic in tandem with high-tier alchemical neutralization. Estimated timeframe: Multiple years with available resources. ]]

[[ Option 2: Forced regeneration via Abyssal Authority. Estimated timeframe: Immediate. Warning: Unstable results possible due to abyssal interference with natural order. ]]

Riven's fingers tightened around the brittle earth, his mind already weighing the two options. The first was safe but slow—too slow. Years of waiting would only leave his people vulnerable, struggling for survival in a land that offered them nothing. The second was immediate but dangerous, carrying an unpredictable cost.

He exhaled through his nose. There was no real choice.

'Expand on Option 2.'

[[ Abyssal Authority can forcibly overwrite the corrupted state of the land, expelling foreign contaminants with Abyssal Flames and reestablishing the soil's fertility. However, due to abyssal energy's chaotic nature, the outcome is not guaranteed to mimic natural regeneration. There is a high probability of anomalous growth, unexpected mana fluctuations, or structural instability within the ecosystem. ]]

Unexpected mana fluctuations.

Riven's gaze flicked to Mal, the only other necromancer he had ever encountered, before shifting toward Damon, the only true earth mage among them. They were both limited—Mal's magic was tied to death, Damon's to shaping the land but not reviving it. If Riven were to take this on, he would be doing it alone.

He considered his next words carefully. "Damon."

Damon straightened at the sound of his name, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah?"

"How deep does your earth magic go? Can you sense what's under us?"

Damon knelt, pressing his palm against the ground. A faint tremor passed through the soil beneath them, like an invisible pulse of awareness. His brow furrowed. "It's bad. The salt poisoning is deep, not just the surface. If I had a decade, I might be able to fix it naturally, but…" He shook his head. "This land's got no life left in it. It won't recover on its own."

Riven looked back down at the soil in his palm. 'If I use Abyssal Authority, what's the worst possible outcome?'

[[ Complete rejection of the land's natural mana, leading to an unstable zone. Possible side effects: accelerated decay, mutated flora, or partial erosion of planar boundaries. ]]

Riven's jaw tensed slightly. 'And the best?'

[[ Full restoration, albeit with unpredictable mana enhancements. ]]

It was a gamble. One he was willing to take.

He let the soil fall from his fingers and stood. "We begin now."

Nyx shot him a look. "Now? Just like that?"

Riven ignored her and took a step forward, slightly stretching his limbs as he let his abyssal flames stir beneath his skin. "Mal, stay at the perimeter of the test zone. If anything unexpected happens, contain it."

Mal hesitated before nodding, moving a few paces back and beginning to trace runes into the dirt with practiced precision.

"Damon," Riven continued, "reinforce the land, make sure it doesn't collapse if the abyss destabilizes the structure."

Damon grunted. "No pressure or anything." Still, he placed his hands against the ground once more, closing his eyes as he channeled his magic deep into the earth.

Riven exhaled, closing his own eyes for a brief moment before reaching inward.

The abyss answered.

Riven felt it stir within him, a vast and endless hunger, coiling around his soul like a living entity. The moment he allowed it to surface, the air thickened with its presence. Shadows stretched unnaturally, slithering along the poisoned earth as if tasting it, seeking, searching.

Then, the fire came.

Abyssal flames erupted from Riven's hands, black as the void, streaked with veins of deep blue and violet. They did not burn in the way normal fire did. They consumed. They devoured. They purged.

Riven pressed his palm to the ground.

The fire lunged.

It sank into the earth like a living thing, spreading outward in a web of searing veins. Dark energy surged through the brittle soil, pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves as it carved its way deeper, stripping away the salt, the necrotic remnants, the alchemical corruption that had poisoned the land.

The ground trembled violently.

A deep, guttural crack echoed through the wasteland as the abyssal flames slithered outward, fusing with the very essence of the Shadow Kingdom's soil. It was an unnatural process—destruction and rebirth entwined in a single, chaotic force.

Riven grit his teeth. The toll was immediate.

The abyss was not meant for creation.

A sharp, searing ache pulsed through his bones, spreading like molten iron beneath his skin. His veins burned, his mana twisting violently as he force-fed his abyssal energy into something it was never meant to heal. His breath hitched, but he did not stop.

The ground beneath them shuddered.

The blackened veins of fire burrowed deeper, drinking the corruption from the land. The salt was obliterated, turned to nothing but fine mist that dissolved into the air. The necrotic remnants of Solis' curse were devoured, stripped from the soil's core. Where the flames touched, the land shifted, darkening, thickening, regaining an eerie vitality.

Then, something changed.

A pulse. A ripple of power that spread outward in a violent wave.

The abyss did not simply heal the land—it remade it.

Grass sprouted in an instant, but not the pale golden fields of the past. The blades were darker, deeper, lined with faint streaks of midnight blue. Strange, ethereal flowers bloomed, their petals curling with veins of abyssal energy, pulsing faintly like beating hearts. The soil thickened, rich and fertile—but laced with something other, something born of the void.

Riven's vision blurred for a moment. The strain was immense, the weight of the abyss clawing at his very being. He felt the land shifting beneath him, not just in body but in spirit. He had changed it—not just purified it, but claimed it.

And it had claimed him back.

A violent shudder ran through him. The darkness surged at the edges of his vision, hunger gnawing at his core, demanding more.

But Riven did not yield.

With sheer force of will, he wrenched his power back, severing the final connection just as another wave of abyssal energy threatened to lash out.

The land settled.

The earth, once dead, was now alive.

Riven exhaled sharply, his vision wavering as a sudden wave of dizziness threatened to pull him under. A sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull, his body protesting the sheer force of what he had just unleashed. His fingers curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to steady himself.

Before he could falter, hands were there—solid, grounding. Krux was at his side, a firm grip under his arm, steadying his balance. Nyx's hand pressed against his back, her touch light but unwavering, a quiet reassurance. Neither spoke, but their presence alone was enough.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then—

"Holy shit." Damon was the first to break it, his voice a mix of awe and unease. His golden eyes swept over the newly formed field, the strange, shimmering grass shifting slightly in an unseen wind. "What the hell is that?"

Mal took a cautious step forward, silver eyes narrowing. He crouched, running his fingers through the new soil, feeling its mana, its presence. "…It's not just purified," he murmured. "It's been reforged."

Riven let out a slow, measured breath, willing the exhaustion from his limbs. His vision still swam at the edges, the abyss clawing at the corners of his mind, but he forced himself to stay upright. This was not the time for weakness.

"This is only the beginning," he said, voice steady despite the weight pressing down on him. His piercing blue eyes swept over the transformed land before flicking back to Mal. "Can it be used?"

Mal hesitated, still running his fingers through the strange soil. "It's fertile," he admitted, but his silver eyes flickered with something unreadable. "But it's also… changed. The mana here isn't the same as before. Whatever grows in this soil will be infused with abyssal energy." He glanced at Riven. "It's your power holding it together."

Riven already knew that. He could feel it. The land wasn't just renewed—it was bound to him. He had reforged it in his own image, and in doing so, it had become something new. A fragment of the abyss, tethered to the material world.

"It'll grow crops," Mal continued, carefully choosing his words. "But we'll need to test them before feeding them to the people."

"We don't have the luxury of hesitation," Riven replied coolly. "This is the first step. However imperfect, it's enough to begin."

Damon let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he surveyed the changed landscape. "Enough, yeah," he muttered. "But we're talking about a single field, boss. It's a start, but we need a whole damn kingdom's worth of this."

Riven didn't respond immediately. He already knew that restoring the entire Shadow Kingdom would take time—more time than he had. The strain of purifying even this one small field had nearly brought him to his knees. To attempt the same process on a large scale would be reckless.

He would need to find another way.

"We begin here," Riven finally said, his tone brokering no argument. "We plant. We harvest. We learn how this land reacts to what we grow."

Mal gave a curt nod. "I'll oversee it."

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Riven's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned to Damon. "Reinforce the area. Make sure the land holds."

Damon grunted in acknowledgement and moved toward the edge of the field, already channeling his earth magic into the soil.

"Nyx, Krux," Riven continued, shifting his focus to the two at his side. "We still have more land to reclaim. We'll need to scout further, see what other remnants of the kingdom can be salvaged."

Krux nodded, ever the soldier. "I'll gather a unit."

Nyx crossed her arms, her sharp gaze flickering toward Riven. "And you?"

Riven exhaled, the faintest hint of strain creeping into his expression. "I'll recover."

"My liege, please follow me for a moment," Mal said softly.

Riven regarded him for a moment before giving a slow nod, following Mal as he led him through the encampment. The night was quiet, the murmurs of the camp hushed in reverence as they passed. Eventually, they reached a slightly larger tent—one that stood apart from the others in its subtle grandeur.

Mal stepped aside, lifting the flap to allow Riven inside. "I've been preparing this for your arrival, my king," he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with something unspoken—lingering hurt from earlier.

Riven stepped in, eyes sweeping over the space.

The tent was modest, but thoughtful. Thick beast hides lined the floor, providing insulation against the cold earth. A large bed, far more comfortable than any makeshift cot, sat at the center. Along the edges of the tent, sturdy shelves and bookcases held neatly arranged supplies—various tomes, parchment, and most notably, an assortment of glass vials filled with glowing liquids.

Mal moved toward the shelves, fingers trailing over the labeled bottles. "I've been brewing various potions for you, just in case," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Please use them as you see fit. There's plenty for the others, so you don't need to worry."

Riven's gaze flickered over the rows of potions. A quiet pang of guilt settled in his chest—Mal had done all of this while he had been absent, and yet, Riven had still scolded him. He exhaled, tension leaking from his shoulders.

"Thank you," Riven said, his voice softer than before. Exhaustion was settling in fast, creeping up his spine like a dull weight. "I'll use them well."

But even as he spoke, his vision blurred at the edges. His balance faltered.

Before he could stumble, Mal was at his side, steadying him with firm hands. "Careful," Mal murmured, his grip unwavering as he guided Riven toward the bed. The necromancer lowered him gently, his expression unreadable, but the concern in his silver eyes was clear.

Without hesitation, Mal grabbed a handful of vials from the shelf and uncorked them. "These are health potions," he explained, pressing the first to Riven's lips. Riven drank without argument, the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat. Heat spread through his veins as the magic took hold, a faint glow pulsing beneath his skin.

[[ You have ingested a health potion. ]]

[[ Healing in progress… ]]

Mal retrieved another vial, this one shimmering a deep blue. "And these are mana potions," he continued, offering it to Riven. Without pausing, Riven swallowed them one by one, the cold rush of mana flooding his system.

[[ You have ingested a mana potion. ]]

[[ Please assume a meditative state for optimal restoration. ]]

The system's words buzzed in the back of his mind, but Riven ignored them. His body was still aching, his very soul strained from channeling abyssal energy into the land. Sleep tugged at him, heavy and insistent.

"I think I'll rest for a while," he muttered.

Mal inclined his head slightly. "Of course, my liege."

Riven barely heard the words. His eyelids drooped, the silver gleam of Mal's watchful gaze the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

The system continued its quiet hum of notifications in the back of his mind, but he was already too far gone to pay them any attention.