Chapter 324: A Promise
"Then. Let me grant you the end you long for."
Vitaliara leapt in front of Gabriela, her golden eyes blazing as her voice roared in his mind. [Lucavion! What are you doing?]
He didn't waver, his grip on the estoc firm. 'This is for the better,' he thought, his inner voice calm yet resolute as he directed his thoughts to Vitaliara. 'Look at her.'
Vitaliara glanced back at Gabriela, her celestial form trembling as she saw the truth. Gabriela didn't move to protect herself. She didn't protest. She simply sat there, lifeless, her gaze fixed on nothing.
[But she can recover!] Vitaliara's voice cracked with desperation, her plea ringing in his mind. [She's not beyond saving!]
Lucavion shook his head slightly, his smirk gone, replaced by a cold, pragmatic expression. "Recovery requires a desire to live," he said softly, his eyes never leaving Gabriela. "She doesn't have that anymore. She's already made her choice."
He raised his sword.
"My….."
Just then Gabriel's voice came with a low tone.
Lucavion's estoc hovered in the air, the faint hum of the [Flame of Equinox] vibrating along its edge as he prepared to strike. But just as the blade was about to fall, a faint sound reached his ears—hoarse, broken, yet filled with more weight than any shout.
"My... daughter... please..." Gabriela's voice cracked, barely audible, yet it carried through the stillness of the chamber like a thunderclap. Her lips moved slowly, the words drawn from a place deep within her that hadn't been entirely extinguished. Not as a sect master. Not as a warrior. But as a mother.
Lucavion froze. His sharp gaze locked onto Gabriela, and for the first time, he saw something stirring behind the emptiness in her eyes—a glimmer of purpose, fragile but undeniable. His blade lingered mid-air, caught between his initial resolve and the unexpected weight of her plea.
Vitaliara's golden eyes widened, a faint shimmer of tears reflecting her own inner turmoil. [Gabriela...] she whispered in his mind, her voice trembling with emotion.
Lucavion's expression softened, though his grip on the estoc remained steady. He took a measured breath, lowering the blade slightly. "Your daughter..." he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity and understanding. "If she's still out there... you can leave it to me."
Gabriela's lips trembled, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across her face. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and in that instant, something unspoken passed between them. "You see..." Lucavion continued, a shadow of his smirk returning, though tempered by a rare sincerity. "I'm quite good at taking care of other people's daughters."
The faint smile on Gabriela's lips grew just enough to shine through her exhaustion. "Ah... I am glad..." she whispered, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. The glimmer in her eyes faded, her body relaxing as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
Lucavion inhaled deeply, his gaze steady and composed as he raised the estoc one final time. The black starlight along its edge dimmed, replaced by a soft, ethereal glow—the [Sword of Life. Gentle Blade]. The flame coiled with a radiant balance of life's light, a gesture of respect to the woman before him.
Vitaliara stepped aside, her form trembling but silent as she watched. [You'll make it painless?] she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper in his mind.
Lucavion nodded once. "Of course."
He brought the blade down in one smooth, graceful motion. The light from the [Gentle Blade] pulsed gently, wrapping around Gabriela like a shroud, easing her final moments with a warmth that seemed to erase her pain.
As her final breath escaped her lips, the chamber fell silent. Gabriela's body slumped, her expression serene, as though she had finally found the peace that had eluded her for so long.
Lucavion sheathed his estoc with a sharp click, his expression unreadable as he turned to Vitaliara. "Her daughter," he said simply, his voice calm yet resolute.
[Ilyana.]
Vitaliara's voice entered Lucavion's mind, quiet but firm, carrying the weight of memory. [Her daughter's name is Ilyana.]
Lucavion paused, his gaze lingering for a moment on Gabriela's lifeless form. He repeated the name under his breath, testing its weight. "Ilyana," he murmured, his tone thoughtful yet resolute, as though the name itself carried a new purpose.
The chamber was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint echo of his boots as he turned and began to walk. Vitaliara leapt gracefully to his shoulder, her celestial fur dimmed but steady, the glow in her golden eyes subdued. She didn't speak immediately, sensing the unspoken gravity in his stride.
Lucavion's steps were measured, deliberate, as he moved through the broken remains of the chamber. The flickering remnants of his [Flame of Equinox] glimmered faintly in the distance, casting long shadows across the fractured obsidian floor. His mind, however, was focused on the single name echoing in his thoughts.
"Ilyana," he repeated softly, as if to himself, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of mana in the air.
[What do you intend to do?] Vitaliara finally asked, her voice tentative but curious.
Lucavion's lips curled into a faint, almost sardonic smile, though his eyes held none of their usual mischief. "Isn't it obvious? Find her." He glanced at Vitaliara, his expression sharpening. "If Gabriela held on this long for her daughter, there's a reason. And I intend to see what that reason is."
********
Thalion strode briskly through the darkened halls of the Crimson Serpent Sect, his boots clicking against the polished stone floor as he moved toward his father's residence. The events in the prison chamber had left him agitated, but he shook off the unease with a sharp breath. He needed to speak to Vaelric. Whatever was happening in Thornridge was growing more dire by the moment, and answers were needed.
The narrow corridor gave way to the open courtyard, the cool night air brushing against his face. But as he stepped outside, he froze mid-step, his breath hitching.
The courtyard was littered with bodies.
Countless corpses of his fellow disciples lay strewn across the cobblestones, their crimson robes soaked in blood. The torches lining the perimeter flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows over the carnage. The metallic stench of death filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of burning wood.
"What… what happened here?" Thalion whispered, his voice trembling as his gaze darted from one lifeless form to another. His disciples—his sect's people—were dead, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain. Many bore deep, precise wounds, their deaths clearly the work of someone skilled. Others looked as though they'd been torn apart by sheer force, their bodies mangled and unrecognizable.
For a moment, he was paralyzed, his mind struggling to process the scene before him. He stepped forward slowly, his boots crunching on shattered debris and bloodied cloth. His eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of life among the dead.
"This… this can't be…" Thalion muttered. "Who… who did this?"
The unease bubbling within him began to grow into something darker—fear. He had seen death before, of course. As the heir to the Crimson Serpent Sect, he had fought and killed many times. But this… this was different. This wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.
He crouched beside one of the corpses, a young disciple whose wide, lifeless eyes stared blankly at the night sky. A deep slash ran across his chest, the cut clean and deliberate. Thalion reached out hesitantly, touching the blood-soaked robes. They were still warm.
"Who could do this?" he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. The disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect were no weaklings. Even the lowest among them were seasoned fighters, skilled in combat and imbued with the sect's fiery techniques. For so many of them to fall so quickly…
Thalion's breath came in ragged gasps as he tore through the corridors of the sect, his boots pounding against the stone floor. The carnage in the courtyard burned in his mind, a horrifying image he couldn't shake. The disciples were dead, their blood soaking the cobblestones, and he had no idea who—or what—could have done this.
There was only one person who might have answers: his father.
Vaelric was the strongest in the sect, the pillar upon which the Crimson Serpent Sect had been built. If anyone could stop this madness, it was him. Thalion clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade as he pushed forward, ignoring the twisting unease in his gut.
As he neared the grand doors of his father's chambers, he slowed. The faint hum of a presence emanated from within, a powerful energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Thalion frowned, his hand hovering over the door handle.
"Father…" he muttered under his breath. "He's here."
The thought brought a small measure of relief. Vaelric's chambers were forbidden to all but the sect master himself. No one else could—or would—dare enter. The energy inside had to be his father's. And yet… something felt wrong. The air was thick with tension, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingered.
He pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside.
The scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.
Chapter 325: Thailon
The moment that Thailon had pushed the door, the scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.
Blood was splattered across the walls, pooling on the polished marble floor. The room, once a symbol of Vaelric's power and authority, was now a gruesome tableau of violence. In the center of the carnage lay a body—or rather, what was left of one. Only the lower half remained, the torso and head missing entirely. The dismembered remains were twisted and grotesque, as though they had been savaged by something monstrous.
Thalion's eyes widened in horror as he recognized the tattered, blood-soaked robes on the lower half of the body.
"F-Father?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His legs felt weak, his chest tightening as the realization sank in. This mangled corpse… it belonged to Vaelric.
His mind raced, unable to reconcile the image before him. Vaelric, the most powerful man in the Crimson Serpent Sect, the peak 4-star Awakened on the verge of a breakthrough, was dead. Not just dead—obliterated.
"Father!" Thalion screamed, his voice breaking. He stumbled forward, his trembling hands reaching out toward the remains. But before he could take another step, a voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Oh? You're his son?"
Thalion froze. The voice was smooth, mocking, and carried an air of casual confidence. He turned sharply, his eyes darting to the source.
Thalion's body snapped toward the voice, his head swiveling to the side where the sound had come from. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath hitched as his gaze landed on a figure stepping from the shadows.
It was a young man, clad in dark clothing that seemed to meld with the dim light of the room. His movements were deliberate, almost leisurely, as though the chaos and carnage around him were of no consequence. But it wasn't his attire or his calm demeanor that struck Thalion—it was his eyes.
The young man's gaze bore into Thalion with a force that was almost physical, an intensity that twisted the air around him. His eyes gleamed with something indescribable, a cold, unyielding intent that sliced through Thalion's fragile composure like a blade. It wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred. It was something worse.
For a fleeting second, Thalion tried to meet the young man's gaze, to anchor himself against the oppressive weight of his presence. But the effort was futile. The sheer intent in those eyes—the quiet, undeniable promise of destruction—forced him to avert his gaze. His head turned involuntarily, his body recoiling as though struck.
His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling erratically. A cold sweat broke out along his brow, his hands trembling as he gripped his blade tighter. He felt it then, crawling up his spine and clutching his throat like an icy hand.
"Fear…" he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible as it escaped his lips. His body felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible force that sapped the strength from his legs. He wanted to move, to act, to strike—but he couldn't. The presence before him was suffocating, a void of power and malice that eclipsed everything else.
The young man smirked, a small, almost amused curve of his lips. He took another step forward, his movements as smooth as a predator stalking its prey.
"So," the young man said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet menace. "This is the heir of the Crimson Serpent Sect. The son of Vaelric." His gaze flicked briefly to the mangled remains on the floor, his smirk widening slightly. "Your father was quite disappointing. I expected more from the 'strongest in the city.'"
Thalion's fingers twitched, his instincts screaming at him to fight, to run, to do something. But the weight of the young man's presence pinned him in place, rendering him unable to act.
"W-why…?" Thalion stammered, his voice shaking. "Why are you doing this? Who… who are you?"
The young man tilted his head slightly, his smirk never faltering. "Why?" he repeated, as though tasting the word. "Does it matter? Your father made his choices, and now he's paid the price. And you…" His gaze darkened, the oppressive air growing heavier. "…you'll pay yours."
Thalion's knees buckled slightly, his legs trembling beneath him. He tried to steel himself, to push past the fear clawing at his chest, but the young man's presence was like a black hole, pulling him deeper into despair.
"No…" Thalion whispered, his voice barely audible. He tightened his grip on his blade, summoning every ounce of courage he could muster. "I won't… I won't let you…"
The young man's smirk faded, his expression growing colder. "You won't let me?" he repeated, his tone devoid of amusement. He raised his hand, his fingers flexing slightly as a faint glow of dark energy began to gather around him.
"Now that I think about it….." The young man's dark energy swirled around him, faint motes of starlight shimmering in the oppressive void. His expression remained cold and detached, but his next words cut through the suffocating air with a razor's edge.
"There is a chance," he said, his voice calm, almost contemplative. "A chance that you leave this place alive."
Thalion's heart skipped a beat, his trembling hands tightening around his blade. The weight of the young man's presence didn't diminish, but those words held a faint glimmer of hope—one he desperately wanted to believe in.
The young man tilted his head slightly, his cold gaze locking onto Thalion's. "Though," he continued, his tone taking on a mocking edge, "that chance only exists if you answer my question."
Thalion swallowed hard, his throat dry as the air grew heavier around him. "W-what… what do you want to know?" he forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.
The young man stepped closer, each measured movement sending a jolt of dread through Thalion's body. His black estoc lowered slightly, the swirling energy around it pulsing faintly as he leaned forward, his voice soft but laced with menace.
"Where," he said, his words deliberate and precise, "is the girl named Ilyana?"
The name sent a cold shock through Thalion's veins. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched as realization struck him like a thunderclap. This wasn't just a random attack. This wasn't about his father or the Crimson Serpent Sect's power. This man had come here with a purpose, and that purpose was Ilyana.
He knew.
Thalion's mind raced, his thoughts spinning in a desperate storm. That's why he's here. That's why he killed Father. It's all because of her.
His fingers tightened around his blade, his knuckles turning white. He knew what this meant. He wasn't stupid. Even if he answered the question, even if he told this man exactly where Ilyana was, it wouldn't matter. His father was dead. The sect was in ruins. And now, there was no reason for him to be spared.
Thalion's breath hitched, and for a moment, silence hung heavy in the blood-soaked chamber. Then, suddenly, a sound broke the stillness.
"Heh..."
It started as a low, guttural chuckle, rising from his throat like a twisted melody. His shoulders trembled as the laugh grew louder, unrestrained, echoing through the chamber with a wild, almost maniacal edge. His blade dropped to the floor with a dull clang as he threw his head back, laughing uncontrollably.
"Ahaha! All of this…" he gasped between fits of laughter, his voice cracking under the weight of hysteria. "You… you came all this way. You killed my father. You destroyed everything… for her?" He doubled over, clutching his sides as his laughter turned darker, more venomous. "I don't know whether to pity you or applaud your stupidity!"
The young man didn't move, his calm expression unchanging as he watched Thalion with an almost clinical detachment. The oppressive energy around him seemed to tighten, but Thalion was too far gone to notice.
Finally, Thalion straightened, his lips curling into a sneer. His eyes, filled with madness and spite, locked onto the young man. "You think you're so terrifying," he spat, venom dripping from his words. "You think you can break me? Fuck you."
With a sharp inhale, Thalion gathered the bile of his hatred and spat. The glob of saliva flew through the air, aiming for the young man's face—but it never landed. The moment it reached within inches of him, the spit hit an invisible barrier, sliding harmlessly down to the floor with a faint hiss.
The young man's gaze didn't waver. If anything, the lack of reaction only made Thalion's hatred burn brighter.
"That bitch," Thalion snarled, his voice low and venomous. "I should've r*ped her when I had the chance. Maybe then she'd have been useful for something." He grinned, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. "So go ahead. Kill me. You'll never find her."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The faint flicker of starlight around the young man's blade grew brighter, sharper, the oppressive weight of his presence
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The faint flicker of starlight around the young man's blade grew brighter, sharper, the oppressive weight of his presence becoming suffocating. For the first time, Thalion's grin faltered, his bravado cracking as the sheer force of the young man's intent bore down on him.
The young man's voice was cold, devoid of emotion, as he finally spoke. "I see," he said simply, his tone calm but chilling. "Thank you for answering me."
The young man's piercing gaze didn't falter as he took a step closer, his blade humming faintly with an unsettling energy. The oppressive aura in the room thickened, making it harder for Thalion to breathe. He sneered, refusing to let the fear clawing at him show, but the slight twitch in his eye betrayed him.
The young man tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but dripping with icy contempt. "This smell of yours… it's faint, but unmistakable." He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Thalion's with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. "You just came from her side, didn't you?"
Thalion's eyes widened imperceptibly, the twitch in his brow giving him away. His sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of alarm.
The young man's lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, so it's true. You've confirmed it for me." He straightened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Well then, it appears you've served your purpose."
He took another step closer, his presence suffocating as he loomed over Thalion. The flickering starlight around his blade flared briefly, illuminating the room in sharp, cold light.
"Though," the young man said, his tone sharp with disdain, "talking about r*pe like that… It's kind of shallow, don't you think?"
Thalion opened his mouth to retort, but before he could form the words, the blade moved.
SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
The strikes were impossibly fast, so swift that Thalion didn't even register the pain at first. The faint, metallic sound of steel slicing through flesh and bone echoed in the room, followed by the dull thuds of severed digits hitting the bloodied floor.
Thalion's eyes darted downward in horror.
Six fingers—three from each hand—lay scattered on the ground, twitching grotesquely. His right leg had been severed cleanly just above the knee, blood pouring from the stump in sickening gushes. His mind struggled to process what had just happened, but then the pain hit him like a tidal wave.
"AAAAAH!" Thalion screamed, his voice raw and guttural as he collapsed to the floor, clutching the stumps of his mutilated hands. Blood seeped between his trembling fingers, staining the already crimson floor. His leg twitched uselessly, the agony radiating up his body with every heartbeat.
The young man stood over him, calm and unflinching. He tilted his head slightly, his expression devoid of pity. "Now," he said, his voice eerily soft, "next time, be mindful of your words."
GULP!
And he forcefully fed Thailon a small vial.
"Goodbye."
Chapter 326: Disciples
Lucavion turned to Vitaliara, her celestial form perched on his shoulder, her golden eyes flickering with intensity. She had been the one to discover the unique scent clinging faintly to Thalion's mangled body—a subtle but unmistakable trail that led them deeper into the Crimson Serpent Sect's stronghold. Her nose, attuned to the finer nuances of mana and life essence, had guided them this far.
[It's faint, but I'm sure of it,] Vitaliara said firmly, her voice clear in Lucavion's mind. [This scent… it leads to something hidden below.]
Lucavion gave a curt nod, his dark eyes narrowing as he focused on the path ahead. Without a word, he strode forward, his estoc gleaming faintly with the residue of the [Flame of Equinox]. His pace quickened as they moved through the blood-soaked corridors, his blade striking down anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Crimson arcs of blood painted the walls and floors as screams echoed briefly before being silenced.
The deeper they descended, the colder and more oppressive the air became. The faint scent Vitaliara had detected grew stronger, laced with hints of decay and despair. Lucavion's expression remained unreadable, though his eyes burned with a cold, unyielding determination.
Finally, Vitaliara's tail lashed with urgency. [We're close. Just ahead, Lucavion.]
The corridor opened into a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness. Lucavion didn't hesitate, his boots echoing against the stone steps as he descended rapidly. The oppressive atmosphere thickened, and with each step, the scent became more distinct—a mixture of desperation and muted power, suppressed by something unnatural.
At the bottom of the staircase, a heavy iron door barred their way. Lucavion placed his hand on it, his [Flame of Equinox] surging along the metal. With a sharp, deliberate push, he forced it open, the hinges groaning in protest.
The scene that greeted them was both shocking and infuriating.
Rows of chambers stretched out before them, each one containing malnourished figures. Their gaunt faces and hollow eyes spoke of prolonged suffering, their bodies weak from neglect. Most of them were cuffed with glinting, rune-etched artifacts designed to suppress their Awakened abilities, rendering them helpless.
Vitaliara's breath hitched, her fur bristling as her golden eyes scanned the prisoners. [I recognize some of them…] she whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow. [They're from the Azure Blossom Sect. These were Gabriela's disciples.]
Lucavion's gaze swept over the chambers, his sharp mind processing the scope of what he was seeing. "So, this is what became of them," he murmured, his voice low and cold. "Vaelric didn't just destroy the sect—he turned its survivors into tools."
The despair in the air was palpable, but Lucavion didn't falter. He stepped into the room, his blade ready as his eyes darted between the chambers. Vitaliara leapt down, pacing anxiously as she recognized more familiar faces. [We need to free them, Lucavion. They've suffered enough.]
Lucavion nodded, his mind already working through the situation. The cuffs would need to be destroyed, and the disciples, though weakened, would require guidance to escape. It wouldn't be easy, but the path forward was clear.
He approached one of the chambers, his gaze locking onto a young woman slumped against the back wall. Her once-pristine robes were tattered, and her skin was pale and bruised, but there was a faint glimmer of defiance in her eyes—a spark that hadn't yet been extinguished.
"Rest easy," Lucavion said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of reassurance. "Your time in this prison is over."
He raised his blade, the [Flame of Equinox] flaring to life as he prepared to cut through the restraints. Behind him, Vitaliara's golden eyes shimmered with determination.
As Lucavion's blade flared to life, casting ethereal shadows across the chamber, a sudden cry broke the oppressive silence.
"Lady Vitaliara?"
The voice was hoarse, trembling with disbelief. Lucavion paused mid-strike, his sharp gaze snapping to the source of the voice—a gaunt man clutching the bars of his chamber. His hollow eyes, sunken with malnourishment, widened as they fixed on the celestial figure beside Lucavion.
"LADY VITALIARA!" another voice shouted, the desperate hope in the cry reverberating through the chamber. "YOU'RE BACK?"
A wave of whispers and exclamations followed, filling the air with a mixture of disbelief and elation. Figures stirred in their cells, weak hands reaching through the bars as more voices joined the chorus. "It's her! She's returned!" "Lady Vitaliara is here!"
Vitaliara's fur bristled with emotion as she stepped closer to Lucavion's shoulder, her golden eyes scanning the disciples who now stared at her with expressions that ranged from stunned disbelief to unrestrained joy. [They recognize me…] she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. [Even after all this time…]
Lucavion's expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained calculating. He glanced at Vitaliara, noting the way her presence seemed to breathe life into the broken figures before them. He understood their reaction perfectly.
'She was their guardian,' Lucavion thought, his mind piecing together the fragments of their shared history. 'The one who protected their sect when it still stood. Even if they barely knew her personally, her presence must have been a symbol of strength, of hope.' He glanced back at the trembling figures. 'And they've been living without either for far too long.'
"Lady Vitaliara…" The young woman in the chamber before Lucavion whispered, her voice barely audible but heavy with reverence. She reached out a trembling hand toward Vitaliara, her eyes filling with tears. "You've come back… You've come to save us."
Vitaliara leapt gracefully from Lucavion's shoulder, landing on the stone floor with quiet dignity. She padded closer to the bars of the chamber, her celestial form glowing faintly in the dim light. [I've returned,] she said softly, her voice resonating with warmth and sorrow. [I'm sorry it took so long.]
The disciples in the chambers pressed closer to their bars, their faces alight with something they hadn't felt in years—hope.
Lucavion observed the scene silently, his blade still glowing with the [Flame of Equinox]. He could see the fragile balance in their expressions, the way they clung to Vitaliara's presence as though it were the only thing keeping them upright. Without a word, he turned back to the restraints binding the young woman before him and brought the blade down in a precise, fluid motion.
The cuffs shattered, the suppression runes flickering and dying. The young woman gasped, the sudden release of her mana like a flood breaking through a dam. She collapsed forward, her body trembling as she struggled to steady herself.
"Rest," Lucavion said simply, his voice calm yet firm. "Your strength will return. You'll need it."
One by one, he moved to the other chambers, his blade striking with precision to free the disciples. Each time the restraints shattered, the same mixture of disbelief and gratitude spread through the air, their gazes alternating between him and Vitaliara.
Vitaliara turned to Lucavion, her voice steady but filled with gratitude. [Thank you, Lucavion. For this.]
Lucavion smirked faintly, his eyes glinting with his usual sharpness. "I'm just the executioner," he replied, though his tone carried a rare note of sincerity. "You're the one they needed to see."
As Lucavion moved through the chambers, his blade striking with precision to shatter the restraints of the Azure Blossom Sect disciples, his steps eventually carried him to the very end of the corridor. A faint, chilling hum resonated from the last cell, distinct from the others. Vitaliara paused beside him, her golden eyes narrowing as she peered at the iron door reinforced with layers of intricate runes.
[This cell…] Vitaliara's voice trembled slightly, a mix of recognition and unease threading her tone. [It's different. It was meant to hold someone… special.]
Lucavion tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning the markings on the door. "Special," he echoed, his voice calm yet curious. He extended his hand, the [Flame of Equinox] flaring as he pressed his palm against the cold iron. The runes flared briefly before disintegrating under the weight of his mana. With a sharp motion, he pushed the door open, the groan of the hinges reverberating through the corridor.
The iron door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Unlike the other cells, this one bore an air of restraint rather than outright neglect. The faint scent of stale mana lingered, and though the woman inside was gaunt and malnourished like the others, there was an undeniable sharpness to her gaze, a flicker of vitality that hadn't been entirely extinguished.
Lucavion's eyes immediately locked onto her as she sat upright against the far wall, her wrists bound by rune-etched cuffs. Her long, dark hair framed a face marked with exhaustion but still strikingly composed. The moment Lucavion stepped into the cell, her eyes snapped upward, sharp and alert.
"Ah…" she breathed, her voice cracking with the strain of disuse. Her grey eyes widened as they settled on the small, glowing figure that padded into the room beside Lucavion. "Lady Vitaliara…"
The reverence in her tone was unmistakable, her expression a mixture of disbelief and joy. She struggled to rise, her cuffed hands trembling as she tried to push herself up.
Vitaliara leapt gracefully to the floor, her celestial glow illuminating the woman's gaunt features. [Yes, it's me,] she said softly, her voice warm yet tinged with sorrow. [I've returned.]
But instead of relief, the woman's face twisted into a grimace. "Why?" she demanded, her voice hoarse but sharp. "Why did you come back? You should have escaped! It's much more dangerous now!" Her tone was laced with urgency and fear, as though her words alone could shield Vitaliara from some unseen peril.
Lucavion's brows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smirk. "Grateful, aren't you?" he remarked dryly, his tone light but edged with amusement. "We just risked quite a lot to find you."
The woman's sharp gaze darted to Lucavion, her grey eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to measure him. "You don't understand," she said firmly, her voice gaining strength. "The Crimson Serpent Sect…..They are really strong…..Their leader….Vaelric….he is a peak 4-star warrior…."
"Ah….that guy….he is dead….I just killed him."
At that, the girl's chin fell to the ground….
"What?"
Chapter 327: Don't lie!
The gaunt 's mouth hung open, her disbelief plain. She struggled to form words, her gaze darting between Lucavion and the faint glow of his [Flame of Equinox] that still lingered on the blade.
"You... you killed him?" she stammered, her voice hoarse and incredulous. "Don't lie! How could you possibly—he was a peak 4-star warrior!" Her voice rose, trembling with desperation. "This is no time for jokes. You don't understand—Vaelric was more monster than man! If he's gone, it wasn't by someone like you."
Lucavion tilted his head, his expression calm but edged with faint amusement. "That's quite the endorsement for his strength, but unfortunately for him, he underestimated mine. Vaelric's body lies in pieces several floors above us."
The woman's lips parted again as if to argue, but no words came. Her gaze fixed on Lucavion's youthful face, her brows knitting in disbelief. "You're lying," she muttered, shaking her head, as if denying the possibility would make it less real. "You… you can't have."
"Ah, yes," Lucavion said, his tone turning light with mock indignation. "How could a mere 'youngster' like me pull it off? Perhaps it was a stroke of luck, or maybe—just maybe—I'm not as ordinary as you think."
Her hands tightened around the restraints still binding her. "Stop joking!" she snapped, her desperation cutting through her disbelief. "Run now, while you can! You've done enough. Save yourself, save Lady Vitaliara! We can endure this—we always have."
Lucavion's smirk deepened, the faint glow of his [Flame of Equinox] reflecting in his dark eyes. His tone softened but carried an unyielding edge as he replied, "I refuse."
The gaunt girl—Ilyana, as Vitaliara had identified her—blinked, startled. "Huh?"
Lucavion took a deliberate step closer, leaning slightly forward as though about to deliver some grand declaration. "If there's one thing—"
[Stop it,] Vitaliara interrupted sharply, her celestial form hopping to perch directly in front of his face. Her golden eyes glared at him with exasperation. [We don't have time for your eccentric poses, Lucavion.]
Lucavion sighed dramatically, drawing himself upright and looking distinctly unimpressed. "You're no fun, you know," he muttered, though the amusement in his eyes betrayed his mock indignation. "A little flair never hurt anyone."
He shifted his focus back to the woman, his expression softening but losing none of its resolve. "Ilyana, was it?" he asked, his voice steady but commanding.
She hesitated, her lips trembling slightly. "Yes…"
"Good," Lucavion replied, inclining his head. "Stay here. I've already freed the others. Until I come back for you, don't leave this chamber. Get it?"
"Wa—" she began, her voice wavering with protest.
"Get it?" Lucavion's tone sharpened just enough to leave no room for argument.
Ilyana faltered, her shoulders sagging as she lowered her gaze. "…Understood."
"Good," Lucavion said, the faintest curve of satisfaction on his lips. Without another word, he turned on his heel, his estoc gleaming faintly in the dim light as he strode toward the exit.
Vitaliara leapt gracefully to his shoulder, her golden tail flicking as she glanced back at Ilyana, who stood frozen in place. [We'll return soon. Stay strong.] Her voice carried a comforting warmth, but her eyes mirrored Lucavion's resolve.
Lucavion moved swiftly through the oppressive corridor, his boots striking the stone floor with purpose. His mind focused entirely on the task ahead, he ascended the spiraling staircase toward the upper levels, where more of the sect awaited their reckoning. Behind him, the faint echoes of prisoners stirring in their chambers were a testament to the hope he and Vitaliara had rekindled.
'Hope,' Lucavion mused to himself, his lips quirking into a faint smile. 'Let's see if it burns as brightly for the rest of you as it does for her.'
*******
The pounding of hooves echoed through the darkened streets of Thornridge as the two factions of elders tore through the city, each group vying to reach their targets first. The tension between them lingered like an unspoken curse, pushing them faster, harder, their breaths visible in the cold night air.
Elder Varos, leading the group of Crimson Serpent Sect originals, glanced over his shoulder at his two companions. "Stay sharp. The rats from the Azure Blossom Sect may be racing ahead, but they'll only find death if they aren't careful."
The wiry elder smirked, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Let them rush in blindly. We'll clean up their mess and take all the credit."
Elder Jayan's group was equally focused, though their approach carried an air of icy determination rather than reckless haste. Her scarred companion growled as he urged his steed forward. "They're trying to beat us to the target. Arrogant fools."
"They'll trip over themselves before they achieve anything meaningful," Jayan replied, her voice calm but edged with steel. "We're here to finish this efficiently. Keep your focus on the task."
The streets narrowed as both groups veered toward their respective targets, their paths converging toward the same district. The scent of burning wood and the faint tang of blood grew stronger as they rode, the chaos of the mercenaries' attacks becoming increasingly evident.
It was Elder Varos's group that first sensed it—a sharp spike of mana cutting through the ambient energy of the night. The air around them seemed to shiver with the force of an unleashed spell, and moments later, the distant clash of steel against steel rang out like a battle cry.
Varos pulled his horse to an abrupt halt, his hulking frame tense as he scanned the darkness ahead. "Do you feel that?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The wiry elder nodded, his smirk replaced by a predatory gleam. "Someone's using mana. And those are blades I hear."
Varos gripped the hilt of his axe, his knuckles whitening. "We've found them."
Not far behind, Jayan and her group came to a similar realization. Her scarred ally tightened his grip on the reins, his eyes narrowing. "They're close. The mana is faint but unmistakable."
Jayan raised a hand, signaling for silence. Her silver-streaked hair shimmered in the moonlight as she tilted her head, listening intently. The faint sound of clashing blades carried through the cold night air, accompanied by occasional bursts of mana pressure.
"They're here," she said softly, her voice steady. "We'll approach from the flank. Let Varos and his dogs charge in if they want. We'll take the lead when it matters."
Her companions exchanged grim nods, their weapons drawn as they dismounted and moved forward on foot. The shadows of Thornridge's narrow alleys swallowed them, their movements silent and calculated.
Varos, true to his brash nature, wasted no time. With a sharp motion, he signaled his group to follow, his booming voice cutting through the tension. "Move! We'll crush them before the Azure Blossom rats can even lift their blades!"
The wiry elder chuckled darkly. "They won't even have time to realize what hit them."
Their heavy footfalls echoed through the winding streets as they closed in on the source of the noise. The scent of blood grew stronger, mingling with the acrid tang of burning mana. As they rounded a corner, the scene unfolded before them.
In a narrow courtyard, dimly lit by a flickering lantern, a group of mercenaries clashed with Crimson Serpent Sect disciples. The disciples were clearly outmatched, their crimson robes streaked with blood as the mercenaries moved with deadly precision. The mercenaries worked in seamless tandem, their movements honed and efficient, each strike calculated to maim or kill.
One mercenary, a towering figure wielding a halberd, brought his weapon down in a devastating arc, cleaving through a disciple's defenses. Another, a lithe woman with daggers, danced through the chaos, her blades flashing as they found their marks.
"Mercenaries," Varos hissed, his grip tightening on his axe. "There they are."
BOOM!
The clash of steel and the crackling surge of mana filled the courtyard, but it was the distant boom that snapped Varos's attention away from the scene before him. His sharp eyes darted to the horizon, where faint bursts of light illuminated another section of Thornridge. The unmistakable flare of mana reached his senses—a potent energy signature that could not be ignored.
"Another group," Varos growled, his voice thick with irritation. He turned to the wiry elder at his side. "You take these fools. I'm heading to the other location."
The wiry elder nodded, his smirk returning. "I'll finish this before you even arrive at your next fight."
Varos snorted, gripping the hilt of his axe as he turned sharply. His heavy frame belied his speed as he launched himself into motion, his body propelled by the practiced movements of qinggong techniques. His form blurred as he leapt onto a nearby rooftop, his mana-infused steps carrying him across the city with unnatural agility.
Not far behind, Jayan and her two allies crouched in the shadows, watching the chaos unfold. Her silver-streaked hair shimmered faintly under the moonlight as she observed the mercenaries with a calculated gaze. She opened her mouth to signal her next move, but another explosion rocked the air, followed by a distant roar of flames.
Her scarred companion grimaced. "They're spread out. This is coordinated."
"Deliberately so," Jayan replied, her voice calm but sharp. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the faint pulses of mana rippling through the air from multiple directions. "They're dividing us."
The burly elder clenched his fists, his scarred chin lifting. "Should we regroup?"
"No." Jayan's response was swift and decisive. "We'll cover more ground if we split. Stay focused and don't let their chaos dictate our actions."
Her companions nodded, their confidence in her unshaken. The scarred elder tightened his gauntlets, his body radiating mana as he prepared to move. "I'll handle the east," he said, his voice steady.
The burly elder cracked his knuckles, a grim smile on his lips. "West is mine."
Jayan nodded curtly. "Move fast and don't engage longer than necessary. Leave no loose ends."
Just like that, the fight in the city continued.
Chapter 328: On the city
On the other hand, the mercenaries, still basking in the chaos they had created, suddenly found themselves under siege. The arrival of the Crimson Serpent Sect elders shifted the tide in an instant. The disciplined ferocity of the disciples, now bolstered by the overwhelming strength of their leaders, transformed what had been a one-sided slaughter into a desperate fight for survival.
Zirkel's group, stationed in the narrow streets of Thornridge, was the first to face the wrath of an elder. The wiry elder, his smirk gone and replaced with cold malice, descended upon them like a hawk on prey. His blade sang as it cleaved through the air, cutting down one of Zirkel's men in a single, brutal strike.
"Fall back!" Zirkel roared, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he hefted his axe. "Regroup and retreat!"
The three remaining mercenaries with him moved to comply, their earlier confidence shattered. Zirkel swung his axe in a wide arc, the blade gleaming as it deflected a strike meant for his back. The elder pressed forward, his strikes relentless, and Zirkel gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't hold him off for long.
The elder sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You dogs thought you could take on the Crimson Serpent Sect? Pathetic."
Zirkel's muscles burned as he parried another blow, his mind racing. He had faced strong opponents before, but this was different. The gap in power was undeniable. He could feel the weight of the elder's mana pressing against him, suffocating and absolute.
Across the city, the other groups fared no better.
In the eastern district, a massive explosion of mana heralded the arrival of Elder Jayan. Her silver-streaked hair shimmered as she moved with predatory grace, her blade cutting through the air like a whisper. A mercenary screamed as she bisected him cleanly, her movements precise and unyielding.
"Scatter!" one of the mercenaries shouted, panic lacing his voice. But it was no use. Jayan's strikes found their marks with terrifying accuracy, cutting down two more before the survivors could even think to flee. The remaining mercenary bolted down an alley, but Jayan made no move to chase him. Instead, her cold gaze shifted to the next target zone, her movements deliberate as she left the corpses behind.
In the western district, chaos reigned as Elder Varos cut through a group of mercenaries like a storm of steel. His axe swung with terrifying power, cleaving through weapons and bodies alike. The streets ran red as the mercenaries tried to regroup, their cries of pain and desperation echoing through the narrow alleys.
One of the mercenaries, a young man barely older than a boy, turned to run but was cut down by a vicious swing. Varos laughed, his booming voice reverberating through the night. "Run, dogs! You'll only die tired!"
The coordinated attack that had once been the mercenaries' greatest strength now worked against them. With each group isolated and under assault, their numbers dwindled rapidly. The elders moved with ruthless efficiency, cutting off escape routes and forcing the mercenaries into desperate skirmishes where their inferior strength became painfully apparent.
Zirkel, bloodied but unbowed, finally managed to pull his group into the cover of an abandoned building. He glanced at the two remaining mercenaries with him, their faces pale and their breaths ragged.
"We're splitting," he said grimly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stick to the shadows and head for the safe point. Don't stop for anything."
"What about you, boss?" one of them asked, his voice shaking.
Zirkel's mismatched eyes gleamed with determination. "I'll keep them busy. Now move!"
The two mercenaries hesitated for a moment, then nodded and slipped into the shadows, their steps quiet but hurried. Zirkel turned back toward the sound of approaching footsteps, his axe hefted and ready.
By the time the dust settled, the mercenaries' numbers had been halved. Out of the twenty who had started the assault, only ten managed to escape the blood-soaked streets of Thornridge. The rest lay dead, their bodies scattered among the carnage they had wrought.
The survivors regrouped in a hidden safe house on the outskirts of the city, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief. Zirkel arrived last, his axe dragging behind him and his mismatched eyes shadowed with guilt.
"They got Jonas, didn't they?" one of the mercenaries asked quietly, his voice heavy.
Zirkel nodded once, his jaw clenched. "Jonas. Riker. Valen. Too many."
A heavy silence fell over the group as they processed the cost of their mission. For all the gold coins promised, for all the chaos they had unleashed, the price had been steep.
The air in the safe house was thick with a mixture of blood, sweat, and quiet despair. The flickering light of a single lantern illuminated the haggard faces of the mercenaries who had survived the chaos. Each of them nursed wounds—some shallow, others deep—but the heaviest injuries weren't visible on their bodies. The weight of loss, of comrades left behind, hung in the room like a specter.
Zirkel sat in a corner, his axe resting against the wall beside him. His mismatched eyes stared into the shadows, replaying the events of the night in his mind. The clashing of steel, the overwhelming presence of the elders, and the screams of his men as they fell—it all echoed relentlessly.
"You will die if you are not nimble with your feet."
Lucavion's voice surfaced in his thoughts, calm and matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than planning an assault on a sect entrenched in power for decades. "That is why I'm giving you a day to make yourself familiar with the interior of the city, so that you can leave."
He had meant it. Lucavion had given them time—time to rest, time to learn the layout of Thornridge, and time to reconsider their choices. No one had been forced into this. They all knew the risks. They all understood that what they were attempting bordered on suicidal madness.
But the money...
Zirkel rubbed his face with a bloodied hand, the coins promised flickering like a cruel mirage in his mind. One gold coin for every kill. It was absurd, the kind of offer that no sane mercenary would trust. And yet, against all reason, they had believed him.
Perhaps it wasn't just the money, Zirkel thought, his fingers tightening into a fist. Maybe it was something else. Something about Lucavion himself.
The man wasn't like any employer Zirkel had ever worked for. He wasn't loud or boastful, didn't puff out his chest and bark orders like a noble who thought himself untouchable. Lucavion was... calm. Too calm. And beneath that calm was a quiet intensity, an unshakable conviction that made even the most skeptical mercenary pause.
Zirkel sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the wall. "Haaah... I'm really crazy," he muttered, his voice low but audible enough to draw the attention of one of the others.
"Crazy?" one of the mercenaries echoed, a younger man with a deep cut across his arm. He gave a bitter laugh, his voice thick with exhaustion. "We all are. Following that guy into this mess... what were we thinking?"
Another mercenary, a wiry woman with blood matted in her hair, shook her head. "We were thinking about the gold," she said bluntly. "And maybe... I don't know... maybe it's more than that. He's just—"
"Different," Zirkel finished for her, his mismatched eyes flicking toward her. "Yeah. I've been trying to figure him out since we left. That guy… he's not normal. Not just strong—hell, we've seen plenty of strong people. But there's something about him. Something..." He paused, searching for the word.
"Trustable," the younger man said, surprising them both. He shrugged when they looked at him. "I know it's stupid. Trust has no place in this line of work. But when he talks, it's like... I don't know. Like he's already planned ten steps ahead. Like he knows exactly how this ends, and we're just along for the ride."
Zirkel snorted, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "Trustable, huh? For a guy who's probably more dangerous than anyone we've ever met. Yeah, that sounds about right." He glanced around the room, taking in the exhausted faces of his remaining men. "But trust or not, we've got to make it through this. That bastard's not going to pay us if we don't survive, and I'll be damned if I let my share slip through my fingers."
The wiry woman smirked faintly, though her eyes held a flicker of sadness. "You really think we're making it out of this, boss?"
Zirkel's grin was sharp and bitter. "We'd better. Or I'm dragging that crazy bastard down with me."
The group fell into a tense silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Outside, the faint sounds of Thornridge's chaos still echoed through the night. Somewhere out there, Lucavion was moving, his calm confidence cutting through the storm he had unleashed.
********
The eerie silence that followed the mercenaries' retreat gnawed at Elder Varos as he scanned the blood-soaked streets. His hulking frame was still, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest as he gripped his axe tightly. The lingering scent of blood and burning mana filled the air, but the enemies were gone.
"Rats," Varos growled, his deep voice reverberating through the empty street. "They scurry away into their holes the moment they feel the heat."
The wiry elder stepped beside him, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with frustration. "Clever little pests, I'll give them that. But no matter how far they run, we'll find them."
Nearby, Elder Jayan arrived, her silver-streaked hair disheveled from the chase. Her blade was still drawn, but the tension in her posture revealed her frustration. Her two allies trailed behind her, their expressions grim.
"Heh…One would expect that, one rat would be better at finding another….I guess that is not true."