I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human
Chapter 63: Cursed Statue

Chapter 63: Cursed Statue

The sky above them was awash with deep purples and molten gold, like a spilled painting stretching from one jagged horizon to the other. The sun hovered just overhead, casting long, surreal shadows that danced over the cracked stone path winding eastward.

Bonewhite trees lined the road, their translucent leaves whispering in the wind, delicately rustling like glass chimes in a distant temple. The air was crisp and dry, carrying the faint scent of ozone and something wilder—an animalistic musk that clung faintly to the breeze, warning of danger yet unseen.

Lucy walked near the group’s center, flanked by Bruma’s quiet strength and Gindus’ confident frame. Llarm moved with lazy grace, wind curling playfully around his fingers, while Eri glided like a shadow, watchful, silent, constantly scanning. And at the front, tail high and eyes alert, padded Carlos, their newest member. The little shadow wolf pup trotted beside Fenric, ears twitching, nose to the air, ever hunting for threats only he could smell.

It had been a month since the battle with the shadow wolves, and two months since the fog of desperation and blood. Since then, Lucy had done almost nothing but train.

He mercilessly pushed himself, circulating his mana with every breath and heartbeat, refusing to rest even in sleep. He dove deeper into his abilities, not content with knowing—he wanted mastery.

There were three skills he had honed in on. First: wind manipulation. Second: atomic radiation. And third: Crucible of Grace.

Luckily, he had Llarm—a reluctant but effective tutor for wind.

"Just have it lift you, like this!" Llarm grinned, bounding into the air with ease. Wind spiraled around his ankles as he took off, soaring a few meters up before swooping past Fenric and Carlos like a leaf on a breeze.

"Zoom..Whoosh!" he added with childlike delight as he circled back and landed lightly on the stones. "See? Easy! Just like that!"

Lucy stared, unamused. His eye twitched.

’Zoom and whoosh, huh? Very helpful.’

With a grunt, he called the wind beneath him. It answered—shakily—lifting him into the air with awkward lurches until he hovered ten feet above the road. He took a deep breath, focused, then gave the mental push to fly forward.

The wind surged.

Without him.

Lucy dropped like a sack of bricks.

But at the last second, he caught himself with a gust, landing in a smooth crouch that masked the fall, mostly.

"Why can’t I get this?" he growled, frustration flaring hot. "I’ve never had this much trouble learning anything before!"

Llarm only laughed, eyes sparkling. "Not everyone can be as spectacular as the Hero," he said dramatically, tossing imaginary hair over his shoulder.

Lucy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "smug air elf."

Wind was frustrating, but not as reckless as how he trained the other two abilities.

Atomic Radiation and Crucible of Grace.

Only a madman would use them together.

But that’s precisely what he did.

He began cycling atomic radiation through his body alongside his mana, letting it crawl into his veins, sear through his organs, and liquefy his insides. Then, as his body started breaking down, he triggered the Crucible of Grace, forcing his own divine regeneration into overdrive. It was agony and healing, death and rebirth, looped endlessly like some horrific divine forge.

The first time he tried it, he screamed. Loud enough to make birds scatter from the trees, Fenric drew his blade instinctively.

But now, after weeks of this brutal self-destruction, Lucy endured it with only the occasional wince. His face twitched. His jaw clenched. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not while they were walking toward Caelgor’s lair. Not when failure meant death—or worse.

The others noticed, of course. The slight grimaces. The way Lucy’s sweat steamed off his skin even in the cool air. But no one said a word.

Some things didn’t need to be spoken.

Suddenly, a sharp bark shattered the calm.

Carlos’s growl echoed from the front of the group, just up the hill. Lucy’s blade was in hand instantly, steel gleaming beneath the strange light.

Eri and Fenric drew their weapons too, responding without hesitation.

The wind stirred around Llarm, gathering in lazy coils that hinted at violence.

Gindu’s sapphire-blue scales shimmered as they tightened, hardening like armor. Bruma, ever calm, wordlessly set down the camping supplies and swung her massive axe off her back.

"What is it, boy?" Fenric asked, voice rising with excitement. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, gripping his curved blade. "Did you find something we can kill?"

But Carlos didn’t charge. He didn’t advance.

He stood at the edge of the hill, barking—loud, angry, urgent. His small body was tense, fur bristling, ears pinned back as he stared down the winding stone path flanked by silver grass and pale, skeletal trees.

Fenric blinked and scratched his head with the flat of his blade, looking confused. "I don’t see anything, bud..."

The rest of the cohort climbed the gentle slope, coming to stand beside him and Carlos.

Lucy kept his sword raised, heart thudding. "What is it?"

"I don’t know," Fenric muttered, frowning. "But he’s certain there’s danger. Look at him—he’s not letting up."

Carlos growled again, tail stiff, barking directly at what looked like nothing. Just a stretch of road and a patch of silver grass rustling in the breeze beneath an arch of white-barked trees.

"Maybe the mutt’s brain finally broke," Eri said sharply, eyes narrowing. "Too much time around you, Fenric."

But then Lucy felt it.

A sudden, sickening pressure rolled over him like a crashing wave—ancient, raw magic so heavy it made his skin prickle and his guts twist. His stomach lurched violently.

"Wait—I feel it too," he gasped, one hand flying to his mouth as bile threatened to rise.

"Are you okay, wyrmling?" Gindu asked, concern flashing in his deep, rumbling voice.

Llarm moved quickly to Lucy’s side, funneling fresh, cool air toward his face. "Breathe," he said, voice softer now. "In. Out."

The clean air helped. Lucy’s nausea eased just enough for him to look up. His eyes scanned the slope and the trees, then he saw it.

Nestled between two bone-white trunks stood a statue.

Not crumbled. Not worn. Pristine.

Seraphine.

She sat frozen in stone, thorns crowning her head, her expression equal parts sorrow and divinity. Her hands rested gently on her lap, one palm turned upward as if offering something unseen. There was no mistaking the oppressive force rolling off it like a silent scream.

"It’s coming from the statue," Lucy said quietly, pointing toward it. His voice was hushed, reverent, and unsettled.

Bruma stepped forward, brow furrowed. "Some statues retain fragments of divine energy. Residual magic, echoes of worship." She paused, eyes locked on the stone queen. "But this... this is too much. I feel it too."

Even Carlos had stopped barking. He stared now, growling low, teeth bared—not in fear, but in defiance.

Something wasn’t right.

The group advanced slowly, their boots crunching over loose gravel and fallen silver grass as they approached the statue. They hadn’t seen another monument since leaving the village months ago, and this one loomed with an unnerving presence.

The air around them grew heavier with each step.

Lucy, sensing the tension, activated Soulthread.

The feelings hit him like a crashing wave—Eri’s sharp anxiety spiking beneath her usual cold exterior, Fenric’s simmering unease tangled with protective instinct, Llarm’s quiet fear hidden behind a calm facade. Even Gindu, whose emotions usually burned like embers, had a flicker of discomfort curled in his chest.

Their faces had gone pale. Hands hovered protectively near their stomachs like some unseen sickness churned inside them. And yet, no one stopped walking. Not even Bruma, who seemed the most worried.

They were too far into their journey to let a statue, no matter how unsettling, be the reason they turned back.

Still, every step felt like dragging their souls through mud.

Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, they stood before the statue.

And just like that, the pressure lifted.

The nauseating weight vanished like mist in sunlight. Lucy felt the tightness in his stomach unwind, and his limbs no longer trembled. Color slowly returned to his cheeks. The others around him exhaled in visible relief, hands falling to their sides.

But Carlos didn’t calm.

The small wolf stood his ground, fur raised, barking furiously at the statue as if it reeked of blood and blasphemy. His growls were guttural now, primal.

"Be careful," Lucy warned, his tone sharp with caution. "This thing’s dangerous."

He pulled his sleeve over his hand, shielding his skin, and knelt before the statue’s base. Years of dust and grime had buried the inscription. He began to wipe it away, each stroke revealing more of the ancient lettering etched into black stone.

Bruma crouched beside him, brow furrowed as she tilted her head for a better view. The others leaned in over Lucy’s shoulders, silent now, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, with the final swipe, the inscription shimmered faintly, glowing with residual divine magic. The words flared with light as a voice not quite sound echoed in their minds, reverberating through their bones.

It was Seraphine’s voice.

"To the wandering—

You are not forsaken.

Though the stars fall and the gods turn cold,

I remain.

I shall return in the hour of ruin,

And I will remember the brave."

A hush fell over the group.

Even Carlos had gone still, his barking silenced. Only his low, uncertain growl remained.

No one spoke—not yet. They stared at the statue of the Thorned Queen, her stony gaze cast over the road ahead. Though silent, she seemed to watch them.

Lucy stared at the statue, jaw tight as Carlos continued to growl beside him.

"To the wandering—she hasn’t forsaken you."

"Yeah. Sure. Tell that to the dead."

He wiped more grime off the plaque, as if the truth was just hidden under another layer of dust. But the message stayed the same: comforting and hopeful.

And completely hollow.

’If this place isn’t forsaken, then what the hell is?’ he thought grimly. ’Bones in the dirt, shadows in the mist, and a cursed fog that eats souls—yeah, she definitely stayed in touch.’

He let out a breath, sharp and quiet.

’Why didn’t she help them? Why didn’t she save them?’

The question stuck in his chest like a splinter. He didn’t want to ask it. Didn’t want to care. But he did.

’Did she even try?’

His eyes trailed up the statue’s stone face, cold and perfect, untouched by time, unlike everything else in this place.

’Or did she just move on... like the rest of the gods?’

He barked a humorless laugh.

"Hell of a job, Seraphine. Really nailed the whole ’goddess of rebirth’ thing."

But no answer came. Just the wind. Just the fog. Just Carlos, still growling at stone.

No one spoke.

They didn’t have to.

Every one of them knew Lucy was right. His voice had carried that rare, bitter truth that left no room for argument.

The silence hung heavy, thick as the fog curling around their boots.

Lucy stood slowly, brushing the grime from his black pants. The dust clung to his pants like it didn’t want to let go. He turned his gaze away from the statue, trying to shake off the weight pressing into his spine.

That’s when he heard it.

A voice—low, uncertain, but clear.

"It’s calling to me."

His head snapped around so fast it hurt.

Eri was already at the statue, her clawed fingertips grazing its stone surface.

Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between awe and dread.

And her hand was still reaching, like she couldn’t stop it.