C63

Iris found Hecate upside down. Hanging from her leg, held by a hand. The hand belonged to a human of absurd height. His other hand held the scythe by its blade. He grasped both Hecate and Blade delicately, especially the blade—only the tip of his finger was touching it, ever so gently, like it was a thin shit of ice that would crumble at the slightest pressure.

“Iris! Save me!” Hecate asked as she struggled to get herself free. The man turned his attention to Iris. His red brows slanted into a frown upon seeing her. His red eyes gleamed with understanding, red as in blood. His hair was wild and untamed, contrasting with his serene expression, though matching perfectly with the scar running from his chin to the left eyes and above. He stood like a tree—almost four meters tall, clad in a white shirt and a blue leather coat that reached his knees. An extremely dangerous sword strapped to his hips. One that gave Iris chills just from a passing glance.

He wore an earring on his left ear inlaid with a gemstone that seemed to be filled with red and white liquid. After noticing that, Iris noted that his fingers were adorned with rings of a similar nature. They were all just pretty, but the bracelet on his hand was inlaid with jades, just like the rings, but carved with runes that read different things, ranging from rebirth to death. There were a total of six jades. Iris only saw three in front, and her heart tightened. She was not mentally strong enough to read the third jade. There were only two she understood: rebirth and death.

Iris looked at Ianthe, whose face had already lost colour. Iris found that alarming and curious. Ianthe was not sensitive to Mana’s nature, unlike her and Hecate, and Man’s aura was completely veiled. She shouldn’t have seen his strength. Neither should’ve Hecate. She seemed to, and Iris could tell that by her mana’s stillness. Something weaker mages did when they had given up doing anything.

Iris could tell he was strong because he could completely hide his presence from her despite not being a stealth class. That meant mastery over mana’s nature as well as control. He was not preparing for a fight, at least.

“We are not enemies. Anything Hecate has done is a fault of chance; please let her go."

The man stared at her for a moment longer as if her words failed to reach him. Iris waited and waited. Hecate did not try to move once Iris had spoken, and neither did Ianthe. Ianthe was frozen in place, barely holding on to her cleaver blade. “Excuse me, can you please let go of Hecate? We are not enemies."

The man was jolted back into reality, “Ah..uhm…right."

He let go of Hecate, and she fell but flipped, landed on her feet, and rushed to Iris’s side. “I did nothing. I jumped from there, and he was below, and before I knew it, he caught me."

Iris nodded and shifted her attention to the man. This was far from over; he had the scythe. If he were willing to let go of Hecate, he would have let go of the scythe.

“I am Iris, a Level 6 caster titled Lightning Lord. I apologize for the startle my companion may have caused you,” Iris bowed before turning to Hecate.

“Ah, sorry!” She bowed, and Ianthe followed suit.

“Raise your heads; it’s not a good habit to bow to strangers, young ladies." The man said he spoke in a slow and tired manner, but it held an underlying hint of authority. “I am Marquess Winchester, a wandering man. You can call me Win."

“Mr. Win, thank you for understanding,” Iris said, raising her head. “If you could give us the scythe..." Iris paused; it should’ve vanished now that Hecate had let go of it. It was forged from the soul, not a physical weapon. Why?! The man had trapped a soul forge, and Iris felt even more horrid at the realization that she couldn’t even see the use of the spell. “The scythe back, we will be on our way. I, again, apologize for the inconvenience she has caused."

“Iris, right?” Iris nodded. A dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She could already see where this was going. “Miss Iris, your companion is a mischievous individual, which at home is not concerning, but when it becomes inconvenience to others, that’s not a good thing. We need to teach such a child a lesson,” he said unhurriedly. He grabbed Scythe’s pole with one hand, and Iris let his chilling mana move into his hand. Like a thick red blood.

Hecate was about to dash again. “Don’t,” Iris hissed. Stopping Hecate in terror.

“I shall make sure this never happens again; you can trust my words—I swear upon my title." She could worry about changing Hecate later, but stopping the man was the priority.

“No… I am a high-principled man, you know. I do things that need to be done when they need to be done. To make sure your companion does not become an inconvenience on your journey, I shall shatter her sense of self here. Once she rebuilds it, it would be better than the current her."

“What are you planning?" Iris questioned, hoping not it was what she knew he would.

“To teach her the word consequence, I shall extinguish this scythe."

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“YOU WILL NOT!" Hecate screamed and tried to move. But Iathe was swift; the base of her blade struck Hecate’s root of the spine, and she went limp.

“I’m sorry,” Ianthe said.

“See, she still would’ve brought your demise,” Man said. “Such power, capabilities, and it is all hindered by her nature. It is a pity. Let me be a help to her,” He said. Still as uninterested and dry as a man watching toddler fights. Iris felt her blood boil with each of his self-righteous words.

“That scythe was made of her sister’s soul; it is unreasonable to expect Hecate to think rationally in this situation. Please, there’s no need to go this extreme; let go of the scythe, and this conflict will end."

The man mused and scratched his scar. “I refuse. A punishment is in order.”

Iris summoned the weaver’s orb in her hand. All of them were compressed, except the one she stood in, into a single orb that floated above her hand. The air twisted and circled it. As if it were swallowing space. “Then, we will have to fight."

A man looked at her. The world turned red, and Ianthe fell to her knees, barely holding onto her consciousness. Iris gritted her teeth and stayed still, channelling mana into the orb.

Hecate gulped back into consciousness. And twisted as if a fish were out of water, trying to breathe.

“You will die,” the man said. The suffocating presence vanished.

Iris looked at Hecate; she was now conscious but completely shaken. “It’s alright." Iris hoped her voice was reassuring. She looked at Win and said, “I am sure, I will." Yet she did not stop channelling mana into the orb. She would only have one chance to hurt him.

“Then, what’s the point of battling? You are not changing anything,” Man mused, his eye gleaming with curiosity.

“In this situation, whether I fight or not, I die. I will die if I fight you, of course. But if I do not fight and watch Hecate’s scythe, my pride will die. For me, that’s the same as death. I shall make sure the scythe is safe even if I die,” Iris replied in her ever-patient, childlike voice.

The thought—the misery Hecate would go through if the scythe was destroyed—was heartbreaking. Iris couldn’t let that happen; her death was almost forgettable in comparison. She needed to take care of Winny. Iris was sure that if she died while protecting Hecate, Ilona would do that for her.

“Aren’t you an interesting mage?” A sliver of a smile graced his lips, “Should I take it as you are exchanging your life for this scythe forged from a passed-away soul? Is that worth it?” Now, he held the scythe in his right hand, still with the same fragility, and freed his sword from the other.

“If my life can be used for something so valuable, it’s more than worth it,” Iris replied. At this point, Orb had become black and dense to the point that even with it floating above her hand, she could feel the weight. “Are you taking my offer?” Iris asked. Any moment. She was unwilling to move a moment earlier than needed.

“No. I will kill you and extinguish the Scythe." His smile was visible for a fleeting moment.

“Then, I shall make sure—your life is hurt badly enough that you leave behind the scythe."

“Try ME!!” The world turned red again as he moved. Iris failed to even catch a glimpse of the afterimage.

Shink!

The blade drew blood.

Ianthe and Hecate watched in horror as Iris failed to react to the horrifying speed of Winchester.

Shirk! A pillar of purple lightning shot into the air, dispersing the could.

The blade stopped before it reached any deeper, than a centimetre into her neck. The blade pierced the weaver’s orb before her neck. Iris had already expected him to stab her neck and placed the orb. The mana within it discharges into the blade, stunning Win. He stood in front of her, his eyes gleaming as the purple sparks danced in them.

Iris sighed; she was alive. She was not expecting to. Yet, the alarming thing was that Winchester was completely unharmed by what she would call the most painful spell she may have used to this day. He shouldn’t exist, let alone be stunned.

“Impressive.”

"You can speak,” Iris muttered, unable to believe. The disbelief turned to horror as he withdrew his blade. Fortunately, he did not destroy her weaver’s orb.

“You stunned me, but for a moment. Still, very few have actually done it... For this fleeting moment of excitement, I shall let you have the scythe." Man tossed up the scythe, and it burned out of existence. “Are you sure—you’re just a level 6?” His brows formed another frown at those words.

"The system does not lie,” Iris replied. Blood flowed down her neck, and rolled into her bosom. She ignored the pain. This much was ignorable.

“I suggest not to trust an entity that’s leeching into your soul, at the same time, altering your being without your control,” Man said, his voice indicating an abhorrence for System. “And it does lie. Do you know what the title ‘Lightning Lord’ means?"

Iris paused; she did not. She never asked Ilona out of fear that it meant something she was better off not knowing. That was unlike her, but she was afraid of Ilona. “I do not; are you willing to tell me?"

“No. I shall let the one entitled to such privilege tell you."

“Who is entitled to what?"

“A boy named Riealle. The son of the previous lightning lord, only he shall tell you what it means,” Man yawned, “Sleep whispers ever so sweetly, I shall sleep, farewell. I hope we never meet again."

The eccentric man just vanished. Assuming he teleported hurt her pride to a lesser extent, so Iris did just that.

“We avoided a disaster without losing anything,” Iris muttered as her attention shifted to Hecate. “Are you hurt?” They did not have healers; they would need to find one in Rivenstone.

“I’m sorry…” Hecate muttered. Iris could practically see all the recovery she had made in the past week collapsing through her eyes. “I was just..."

“You did nothing wrong; he was simply too strong to disagree with,” Iris replied, hoping it would lessen the building guilt.

Ianthe, who had been silent since the encounter, slammed her hand, enforced with mana, on Hecate’s back.

“AH!!” Hecate jumped on her feet and said, “What the hell!"

“Stop mopping; we are here to accompany Iris on her search, not to mop around. She said he was simply too strong, right?"

Hecate said nothing, chewing her lips.

Ianthe stepped closer again, raising her hand. “Right?” She asked with a threatening grin,

“Right… right!” Hecate said, showing a strained smile, “We should go." She proclaimed with hands on her hips.

“Thanks,” Iris said to Ianthe.

“That is why I decided to come along; I just instinctively know how to handle the sad puppy Hecate,” Ianthe replied, beaming.

“Hey! I can hear you!” Hecate tackled Ianthe and failed; Ianthe was faster.

“You cannot deny it, though,” Ianthe said, and he dashed ahead.