Dreados descended from the sky, his figure an ominous shadow against the pale horizon. As he landed, the severed head of the male Spellbound tumbled from the sky, rolling across the frost-covered ground, leaving a crimson trail in its wake.
Silence hung heavy in the air as Dreados strode forward, his boots crunching against the ice. He came to a halt, staring down at the lifeless head before kneeling and lifting it once more. Blood dripped in slow, rhythmic droplets from its torn neck, staining the ground beneath him. His grip tightened as he turned to face Maloi, his piercing gaze locking onto her trembling form.
Maloi stood motionless, her blue eyes locked on the grotesque sight before her. Her lips quivered as tears welled up, streaming down her cheeks in silent agony. Her breath hitched as she whispered, “…Grin.”
The word escaped her lips, soft yet heavy, carrying the weight of a thousand memories. Her knees buckled as her mind was pulled into the depths of the past—memories of a time when life wasn’t filled with despair, when she wasn’t just a weapon but a girl with hope.
---
She was there again, in the slums of Ignir. The air was thick with the stench of filth and despair. Starving elves huddled in corners, their hollow eyes reflecting the hopelessness of lives forgotten by the kingdom. A young Maloi darted through the alleys, her frail arms clutching a stolen loaf of bread. Angry shouts echoed behind her.
“Stop, thief! Bring back what you stole!”
Her bare feet slapped against the jagged cobblestones, leaving a trail of scraped skin. Turning a corner, she collided with a boy around her age, sending them both stumbling. He was clean, well-dressed, and utterly out of place in this broken world. The loaf tumbled from her arms, but she clutched it back with desperation.
“Help me… please,” she begged, her voice trembling as the angry voices drew closer.
The boy’s sharp blue eyes softened as he saw her battered form. Without a word, he turned and opened the trunk of a nearby carriage. “Get in,” he said firmly.
Maloi hesitated for only a moment before climbing inside, curling into the shadows. The boy shut the trunk just as a guard approached.
“Young Master Grin,” the guard said cautiously, “is this really wise? You—”
Grin silenced him with a sharp tug on his sleeve. Moments later, the angry men arrived, shouting furiously.
“Did you see a filthy girl run by here? She stole from us!”
The guard glanced at the boy, who gave a subtle, firm shake of his head.
“No, we haven’t seen anyone,” the guard lied smoothly.
The men cursed and ran off in search of their prey. Grin waited a moment before opening the trunk. Maloi was curled in the corner, her small frame trembling, her face streaked with dirt and tears.
“What’s your name?” Grin asked gently.
“M-Maloi,” she stammered, clutching the loaf of bread like a lifeline.
“I’m Grin,” he said with a soft smile. Then, extending a hand, he added, “Come with me. You’ll never have to go hungry again.”
---
The memory dissolved, replaced by the sight of Grin’s lifeless head clutched in Dreados’s hand. Maloi’s chest heaved as grief turned into unrestrained rage. Her trembling hands curled into fists as tears streamed down her face.
“You bastard!” she screamed, her voice cracking with fury and heartbreak.
The ground beneath her quaked as she summoned her magic. Spikes of the terrain erupted from the ground, hurtling toward Dreados. She followed with jagged shards of ice, her voice trembling with rage.
“He was the one who saved me! The only one who cared! The only one who didn’t see me as filth!”
Her attacks came faster, more frenzied, as fire erupted from her palms, scorching the air. Waves of ice and jagged terrain shards crashed toward Dreados in a relentless assault. Tears blurred her vision as she continued.
“He was my everything! My friend… my family… my hope!”
Her mana reserves began to wane, the strain of casting spell after spell taking its toll. Blood trickled from her nose, her hands shaking violently. Her mind was filled with flashes of another memory—Grin’s determined face as he said, “Let’s top our class. We’ll join the Spellbounds together.”
But those dreams were gone, shattered like the shards of ice she hurled at Dreados. Her body trembled, her strength fading. Dreados walked through her attacks as if they were nothing, his imposing figure drawing closer with each step.
“I’ll kill you!” Maloi screamed, her voice hoarse. She raised her hand to cast another spell, but nothing happened. Her mana was spent. She collapsed to her knees, blood dripping from her nose and eyes as she gasped for breath.
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Dreados stopped before her, his shadow looming over her broken form. For a moment, he stood in silence, his icy blue eyes unreadable. Then, he sighed deeply, his gaze lifting to the distant sky.
“I understand your pain,” he said, his voice steady yet devoid of sympathy. “I took someone dear to you. Nothing would please you more than to see my lifeless corpse.”
Maloi’s tear-streaked face tilted up, her fury replaced by despair.
“However,” Dreados continued, his tone hardening, “in this world, without money, authority, or strength… we cannot get what we want. I slaughtered your people, destroyed your city… and now, I’ve killed your loved one. You have every right to hate me.”
He crouched before her, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His voice dropped, cold and final.
“I do not regret what I’ve done, nor will I apologize. Because in this world…” He paused, his words cutting through the silence. “…I only care about my own.”
"We've both lost someone dear today. All we can do now… is honor their memory."
Maloi’s trembling hands fell limp as his words crushed whatever resistance remained within her.
“You’re welcome to seek revenge,” Dreados said softly, rising to his full height. “I’ll be waiting. But make sure, next time, you have the strength to challenge me.”
With that, he turned and walked away, his steps deliberate and unhurried. The wind tugged at his blond hair and flapped his tailcoat as he left her kneeling in the ruins of her grief.
Maloi collapsed fully onto the ground, her tears falling silently as his words echoed in her mind.
Dreados didn’t look back, his voice carrying over the stillness as he walked toward the submarine.
“Make sure you’re ready.”
---
The wind carried an eerie silence as Dreados strode toward the wreckage of the submarine. His blond hair swayed gently with each gust, his tailcoat flapping behind him in perfect rhythm. Every step exuded an unshakable authority, a calm after the storm that spoke louder than any words.
The battlefield lay in ruin, the icy landscape scarred by the battle that had just unfolded. As Dreados approached the crumpled remains of the submarine, his sharp eyes scanned the scene. Sitting against the cold metallic husk was Anuel, her body slouched, her breathing labored. Draped across her lap were Lisa and Ziraiah, their scorched and broken forms barely clinging to life.
Dreados stopped a few steps away, his expression unreadable. He inhaled deeply, the frosty air filling his lungs, before calling out in a voice that seemed to echo through the very fabric of the battlefield.
“Daiel. Why did you close it?”
A faint distortion shimmered in the air, signaling the opening of a portal. On the other side, Daiel’s strained face came into view. His fiery red skin glistened with sweat, his veins pulsing visibly as he fought to stabilize the portal’s edges. The black void flickered and wavered, unstable under the weight of the distance it spanned.
Beily appeared beside Daiel, uncorking a vial of glowing blue liquid. “Drink it,” Beily urged, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
Daiel gulped down the potion, his hands trembling as he poured the remaining energy into the portal. The shimmering edges brightened, the gateway stabilizing just enough for a clear view of the other side. Dreados’s piercing gaze met Daiel’s, his tone carrying the weight of command.
“Do I have to ask you to come and collect them?”
Without hesitation, Beily and Sumshus stepped through the portal. The moment they arrived on the battlefield, their eyes were drawn to the scene before them. Lisa and Ziraiah, their bodies charred and motionless, lay in Anuel’s lap. The metallic scent of burnt flesh hung heavily in the air, mingling with the cold bitterness of the wind.
Sumshus froze, his chest tightening as he processed the sight. His eyes darted to Festron’s lifeless body lying nearby, the gaping wound in his chest a brutal reminder of the battle’s cost.
“Oh… my God,” Sumshus whispered, his voice trembling. He fell to his knees beside Festron, his trembling hands hovering over the gory wound. Tears began to stream down his face as he choked out, “Festron… no…”
Beily stood motionless, his usually sharp tongue silenced by the overwhelming grief. His jaw clenched tightly, his hands curling into fists as tears rolled down his cheeks. The weight of the loss was suffocating, a heavy cloud that pressed down on everyone present.
Anuel watched silently, her eyes hollow. She had no strength left—not for words, not for tears. Her body trembled as Beily crouched beside her, gently helping her to her feet. “Come on,” he said softly, his usual sarcasm replaced by an unfamiliar tenderness.
On the other side of the portal, Daiel’s face was streaked with silent tears. He struggled to keep the gateway open, his body trembling under the strain. The hideout had fallen silent as the remaining members gathered near the portal, their expressions a mix of shock and sorrow.
Sumshus carried Festron’s body through the portal, his steps slow and heavy. Beily supported Anuel, guiding her as she struggled to carry Lisa’s scorched form. The crowd parted as they entered the hideout, their murmurs hushed whispers of disbelief.
Valerius and Eryndor, who had been in another room, heard the muffled cries and commotion. Their instincts flared as they stepped out into the open, only to freeze at the sight before them.
Dreados emerged from the crowd, carrying Ziraiah in his arms. Her body was unrecognizable, her once-vibrant skin blackened and charred. The sight was too much for Eryndor to bear. His composure shattered as he sprinted toward Dreados, his voice breaking.
"No… no!" Eryndor’s hands trembled as he took Ziraiah from Dreados. The sight of her burned, barely breathing form sent a chill through him. Without hesitation, he removed his shirt, covering her naked and scorched body so no one else could see.
Kneeling, he noticed she wasn't breathing, so he pressed his hands to her chest and began CPR. "Ziraiah! Ziraiah, answer me! Please!" His voice cracked as he fought to bring her back, desperation fueling every breath he gave her.
Valerius stood paralyzed, his heart sinking into a pit of despair. His lips quivered, but no words came. Slowly, he walked toward Ziraiah, his movements sluggish and deliberate. Kneeling beside Eryndor, he reached out, gently taking her hand. His tears fell freely as he pressed her hand against his cheek.
“Please… no…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t lose you. Not you.”
Memories of their childhood flashed through his mind—moments of laughter, arguments, and quiet sibling bonds. His grip tightened as he whispered a desperate prayer. Please, God… don’t let her die. I’ll change. I’ll be a better brother. I’ll protect her, I swear. I’ll—
The memory of Gustein healing the elf queen burned in his mind like a spark of hope. Valerius’s eyes snapped open, and he shouted, “Gustein!”
Across the room, Gustein flinched, his pale complexion turning ashen. Every eye in the room turned toward him, their collective grief and desperation forming a weight that pressed down on him.
“Heal my sister!” Valerius demanded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Now!”
The crowd murmured in disbelief. One voice called out, “He’s a healer?” Another followed, “Then let him heal Festron and Lisa!”
Gustein hesitated, his body trembling under the weight of the decision. He took a tentative step forward, but the crowd surged, blocking his path. Sumshus, holding Festron’s body, turned to Gustein, his tear-streaked face filled with desperation.
“Heal him first,” Sumshus pleaded, his voice raw with grief.
“No!” Valerius shouted, his desperation spilling over. “Gustein, heal Ziraiah first!”
The room erupted into chaos, voices clashing as everyone made their demands. Gustein stood frozen, his hands trembling, his breath quickening. The pressure was unlike anything he had ever felt. Who do I heal first? What if I choose wrong?
Sweat dripped down his face as he stood paralyzed in the center of the storm. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the decision crushing him as the room collectively held its breath, waiting for his choice.
---
To Be Continued…