The room was nearly empty now. Most of the warriors had gone outside, leaving only three figures seated on the floor beside an unconscious Ziraiah.

Silvie exhaled, glancing between the two brothers. "Any one of these people could’ve killed you in an instant, yet you still stuck your neck out for your sister. Wish I had someone like that."

Eryndor, sitting with effortless poise, offered a faint smile. "Though they constantly quarrel, my brother harbors an undeniable fondness for our sister."

Valerius turned his face away, embarrassed. "Don’t say stupid things."

Silvie chuckled before hesitating, as if weighing her next words. "Can I ask you guys a question?"

Valerius, now lying flat on the floor, stretched lazily. "Sure, why not?"

Silvie glanced at them both. "What are Elvheins? At first, I thought you guys were humans like me."

Valerius shrugged. "No idea. We only found out we were Elvheins a few days ago."

His gaze drifted toward Eryndor. "Come to think of it, I wonder what happened to Kaelan. Is he still frozen in that lab?"

Eryndor crossed his arms, his expression contemplative. "One would hope he has been liberated from his frigid prison, lest he remain an artifact of ice, forgotten amidst the chaos."

Valerius snorted. "Yeah, right. The whole city was in shambles—I’m sure they forgot all about him."

Silvie frowned. "Who's Kaelan?"

Valerius propped himself up on his elbows. "The first person we met on Yilheim. He told us what we are, and we've been with him since."

Eryndor glanced at his brother, then added smoothly, "You neglect to mention that he also saved our lives."

Silvie nodded, thoughtful. "You're lucky to have met someone like that."

Her brows furrowed suddenly, a memory surfacing. The white panel—the glowing text she had seen upon arriving in Yilheim.

She edged closer to Valerius, her voice lowering. "Do you also see the white panels?"

Eryndor raised an eyebrow. "White panels?"

Valerius tilted his head. "What white panels?"

A voice interrupted them out of nowhere.

"I believe she is referring to me."

Valerius jolted upright, startled. "Damn it, Yelleen! Don't do that! I almost had a heart attack. And where the hell have you been this whole time? I completely forgot about you."

Silvie blinked, watching Valerius talk to thin air. "Uhh... is he okay? He’s talking to himself."

Eryndor, ever composed, explained with his usual refinement. "We do not perceive panels, as you do. Instead, we are accompanied by an ever-present voice within our minds."

Silvie’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Eryndor inclined his head slightly. "Indeed."

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face. "I find myself rather intrigued by this ‘panel’ you speak of. Would you be so kind as to elaborate? Ourswas certainly not white."

Silvie leaned closer to Valerius, whispering, "Does he always talk like that?"

Valerius smirked, whispering back, "Yeah, he’s weird. He sees normal people as peasants."

Eryndor didn’t even glance at them as he coolly remarked, "I can hear you."

Valerius snorted. "So what? It’s not like I’m hiding it."

Eryndor gave him an unimpressed look. "Then why are you whispering?"

Valerius stretched his arms behind his head. "I’m not whispering, I’m just speaking in a low voice."

Eryndor exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is why you and Ziraiah are constantly at odds. Unlike her, however, I refuse to engage in petty squabbles."

Turning back to Silvie, he straightened his posture. "It seems my brother’s lack of decorum is rubbing off on me, for I have engaged in discourse with a lady without first offering my introduction. I am Eryndor."

Silvie shook his hand. "Silvie."

Eryndor nodded politely. "Now, regarding your white panel?"

Silvie hesitated before continuing. "It appears right in front of me—white with black text. And the weird thing? It’s in English, even though this is another world. The first thing it ever told me was I am Yelleen and I will be your guide. Something like that."

Valerius’ expression darkened. "Yelleen… was that you?"

"Yes."

Valerius frowned. "Does that mean you’re in everyone’s head?"

"Yes."

His frown deepened. "How?"

"You will know when the time comes."

Valerius groaned. "Of course. You never tell us anything."

Eryndor, his mind sharp as ever, mused, "I recall that we, too, once perceived such panels in the beginning. However, they ceased appearing days ago. Now, all that remains is the voice."

Silvie turned to Valerius. "So Yelleen is the voice in your head?"

Valerius nodded. "Apparently, she wrote the stuff you see on your panels too."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Silvie exhaled, looking up. "Really? Well… thank her for me. I would have died without her guidance."

Eryndor regarded her curiously. "So you believe us?"

"Yeah."

Silvie pushed herself up and dusted off her clothes. "Come on, I’ll show you your room."

Valerius stood, but instead of following her, he walked over to Ziraiah, kneeling beside her. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes.

With an eerily soft, affectionate tone, he whispered, "Ziraiah… Ziraiah… little sis…"

Then, his expression twisted into something monstrous—eyes rolling back, mouth stretched wide in a grotesque grin.

And he screamed in her face.

"ZIRAIAH!!!"

Ziraiah’s eyes snapped open—only to be met with an abomination inches from her face.

"AAAHHH!"

Instinct took over. Her hand lashed out, striking Valerius with a slap so devastating, the snap of impact echoed through the room.

CRACK.

Valerius was launched across the floor, crashing into the far wall. His body slumped forward, unmoving.

Everyone froze.

Silvie’s jaw dropped. The few warriors who remained in the room blinked in shock. Even Eryndor, always composed, raised an eyebrow.

Valerius, still lying on the floor, eyes wide open, processed the damage.

He couldn’t move his neck.

He couldn’t move his jaw.

He couldn't move his body

His mind raced. What the hell? I can’t move my head. I can’t move my mouth either. What did she just do to me?

A voice murmured from the crowd. "Oh… he’s dead."

Another woman scoffed. "I heard something crack."

The woman grinned. "I bet 500 Narlins he survives."

The man beside her smirked. "I bet 500 he’s dead. No Earther can survive that."

The woman’s smile widened. "Oh? Already forgot? They’re Elvheins, not Earthers."

The man stiffened. "Wait. No. The bet’s off—!"

At that moment, Eliana and the elf queen heard the noise.

The queen frowned. "What is going on now?"

Meanwhile, Ziraiah sat up—unaware that all her clothes had burned away.

Eryndor’s voice was calm yet firm. "Cover yourself, Ziraiah."

She froze, looked down—then screeched, yanking Eryndor’s oversized jacket over herself.

Finally, she turned and saw Valerius, still sprawled out, immobile.

Her heart sank. "Oh my god—Val!"

She scrambled to him, her oversized sleeves flailing as she crouched. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—!"

Valerius could only stare at her, his face swollen, his mind still reeling.

She broke my neck.

How dare she?

Was this because of that stupid hairbrush?

Then, realization hit.

Wait. How did she get that strong?!

Eryndor knelt beside him, examining the damage. "You are remarkably fortunate, Valerius."

Silvie tilted her head. "Is he… okay?"

Valerius’ eyes twitched.

No. No, I am not okay.

---

Hours had passed since the battle. Within the grand halls of Ignir’s Royal Castle, a tense gathering had formed. The towering, resplendent throne of King Gozay loomed over the assembled nobles and the remaining Spellbounds—their numbers inscribed upon their chests.

The First and Eighth Spellbounds were absent.

At the center of attention stood Maloi, her head wrapped in fresh bandages, her stance composed yet strained. Before her, seated upon his throne, King Gozay exhaled slowly, his fingers pressed against his temple. His golden hair, though slightly disheveled, still radiated regality, and his piercing blue eyes shimmered with contemplation.

A heavy silence filled the hall before the king spoke. His voice, rich with authority, resonated through the chamber.

"So… we have lost the Eighth Spellbound." His words were deliberate, each syllable laced with weight. His gaze did not waver as he lowered his hand, now resting upon the armrest of his throne. "Tell me, Maloi—how did such an event transpire?"

The assembled nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the atmosphere thick with tension.

Maloi took a measured step forward, her head slightly bowed. "We were moments away from apprehending the Unbound when a single man appeared. His strength was unlike anything I have ever witnessed… He subdued me with ease and slew Grin."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed the king’s gaze. He leaned forward slightly. "A single warrior opposed the both of you…? He must have suffered grave injuries in the exchange."

Maloi hesitated before shaking her head. "My lord… we were no match for him. It was not even a battle."

A long silence stretched across the hall.

Then, King Gozay's voice sharpened.

"Are you implying that you lost miserably?"

Maloi did not immediately respond, but the weight of his words pressed upon her shoulders. Her head bowed further, lips tightening.

"Answer me, Maloi."

Her voice wavered as she finally spoke. "...Yes, my lord."

A low murmur spread among the gathered nobility. Their whispers slithered through the chamber, filling it with disbelief and intrigue.

King Gozay's gaze narrowed. "Tell me—what tier of magic did he wield?"

Maloi inhaled deeply before answering. "He had no magic, my lord."

The hall erupted into murmurs once more, but this time, it was tinged with outrage.

A nobleman, his expression twisted with incredulity, scoffed. "What? How can a mere man defeat a Spellbound without magic? Such a thing is preposterous!"

Another elf, his features sharp with scorn, sneered. "A boldfaced lie! This lowborn girl dares to deceive His Majesty?"

The nobles' chatter grew louder, suspicion mounting.

But then—

"SILENCE."

The king’s voice cracked through the chaos like a thunderclap, its sheer force shattering the rising commotion. The nobility froze, their lips clamping shut as an eerie stillness fell over the hall.

His gaze, glacial and unwavering, returned to Maloi. "If he wielded no magic… then what weapon did he employ?"

Maloi swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He bore no weapon, my lord. He fought with his hands."

A long pause stretched between them.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, King Gozay rose from his throne.

The sheer magnitude of his 13-foot frame cast an imposing shadow over the chamber. His height was abnormal for an elf. His regal robes billowed slightly as he descended the steps of his dais, his measured steps echoing across the stone floor.

"Correct me if I am mistaken," he murmured, each step drawing him closer to Maloi, "but from what I understand—this warrior wielded no magic… bore no weapon… and yet, he bested both my Eighth and Ninth Spellbounds?"

The room was silent, save for the sound of his boots against marble.

Maloi, now mere inches from the king’s piercing gaze, felt her breath hitch. His eyes, cold and unreadable, bore into her, searching for any trace of falsehood.

"Am I correct?"

Her lips trembled as she forced herself to nod. "Y-yes… yes, my lord."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—

"I see."

Without another word, he turned away, his towering figure retreating back toward his throne. Each step, though slow, carried the weight of absolute authority.

The moment he sat, he intertwined his fingers, exhaling deeply before addressing the room once more.

"Magic is but one path to power." His voice was calm, but it carried the finality of a divine decree. "In truth, it pales in comparison to what lies beyond."

The nobility listened intently, their previous doubts now overshadowed by curiosity.

"We mages channel Vitalis into Mana, and from Mana, we weave our spells. This is the foundation upon which our strength has stood for thousands of years."

He let his gaze drift across the gathered Spellbounds.

"However…"

His voice lowered slightly, the weight of his next words thick with reverence.

"There exist those who channel Vitalis in a manner far removed from our understanding. Those individuals do not wield Mana—instead, they draw forth something far greater. Something ancient. Something monstrous."

His blue eyes gleamed.

"They wield Bravo."

A hushed silence swept through the chamber, tension crackling like a storm about to break.

Then, from the ranks of the Spellbounds, a lone figure stepped forward.

The woman bore the number five inscribed upon her chest. Her hair was cut short in a sharp, practical style—her presence exuding an air of unwavering discipline.

She knelt before the king, her gaze steady. "My lord… if I may inquire, what exactly is Bravo?"

King Gozay did not immediately respond. Instead, he leaned back against his throne, his gaze distant.

"I do not know."

A ripple of shock passed through the hall.

"That," he continued, his voice heavier now, "is how exceedingly rare it is."

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. The Spellbounds stood rigid, listening intently.

"For over three centuries, I have tasked my finest scholars with unraveling its mysteries. Yet, even after all these years, Bravo remains a force beyond comprehension."

His fingers tapped against the throne’s armrest as he recalled a voice from mere days ago.

Renia.

"The Elvhein children encountered a Bravo user. Our devices detected remnant traces of an energy unlike Mana. It can only be Bravo."

The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. And to think… those children had been witness to such an anomaly.

He exhaled, his mind sharpening.

The rules of power had shifted.

And the world of magic had just encountered its greatest unknown.

A heavy silence lingered in the grand hall, the weight of King Gozay’s words pressing upon the nobles and Spellbounds alike. The revelation of Bravo, a force beyond magic, had shaken the very foundation of their understanding.

Yet, amidst the suffocating tension, Maloi hesitated, her posture stiffening. She clenched her fists, inhaling sharply before speaking once more.

"There is one more thing, my lord."

King Gozay, who had been lost in thought, shifted his gaze toward her. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a calm, unwavering authority.

"Go ahead."

Maloi swallowed, her heartbeat thundering in her chest. She took a single step forward, her voice steady but strained.

"The man I spoke of… the one who overpowered us…"

A pause.

Then—

"He is an Elf."

The entire hall erupted.

A cacophony of gasps, murmurs, and disbelieving whispers flooded the chamber, nobles recoiling as if they had just been struck by a physical blow.

"Impossible!" one noble barked.

"An Elf wielding Bravo? Ridiculous!" another scoffed.

Even the Spellbounds, seasoned warriors and mages of the highest caliber, exchanged bewildered glances.

For thousands of years, Elves had been known for their unparalleled affinity with Mana. Their lineage was steeped in magic, their connection to Vitalis refined through generations. But Bravo… Bravo was something beyond their domain, a power untamed, raw, and foreign to their very existence.

For an Elf to wield such a force—it defied logic.

From his throne, King Gozay remained silent, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Maloi.

"An Elf…" he thought, his mind racing.

This was no trivial matter. This was a revelation that could change everything.

The murmurs continued to rise, the nobles spiraling into disbelief, their voices growing louder, more frantic.

Yet, even as the hall drowned in chaos—the king did not speak.

He simply sat there. Thinking. Calculating.

An Elf that uses Bravo…

For the first time in over five hundred years, something unforeseen had shaken his kingdom.

And he did not like it.

---

To Be Continued…