? His thoughts screamed in alarm. That is the highest-level movement-sealing arts! How could someone here… His mind whirled with suspicion. Assassins?
A voice cut through the silence, smooth yet mocking.
"Well, well… Mr. Prince. Or should I say, Alexos Blanç? Or would you prefer Rigar Pyre?" A young boy stepped forward, his posture casual, a long black robe trailing behind him. He toyed absentmindedly with a pencil, as though the situation amused him. "Not that it matters much—you won't need either name for long. I'm called Spade, by the way."
Rigar's eyes narrowed, rage bubbling within him despite his paralysis. "What the hell do you want? I'm not exactly in the mood for new friendships right now. I've got business elsewhere," he growled, though his words held little weight given his current state.
Spade tilted his head, amused by the anger in Rigar's voice. He was just a boy, perhaps no older than a teenager, yet he had just unleashed a powerful sealing spell that even experienced crusaders would struggle to perform. Was he possibly, the Hero that the country was raising? Rigar cursed inwardly. If he couldn't move, then surely Christa was equally bound. The situation was spiraling out of control.
A second voice entered the fray, this one laced with irritation.
"Spade, can we move this along? I'm tired, and I'd rather be home." A tall, red-haired girl strode into view, her fingers lazily twirling a deck of cards. Her expression was one of boredom, her eyes scanning the scene with little interest. She glanced at Rigar briefly, her lips curling into a smirk, but her gaze quickly shifted to Christa, as though she found more entertainment there.
Rigar's blood ran cold as he noticed the red-haired girl's focus on his wife. He struggled against the spell, his mind screaming, Move! Do something! But his body betrayed him, locked in place by .
Spade waved a hand dismissively, his voice casual, though with an edge of impatience. "Yeah, yeah, Clover. You don't need to keep nagging me. I'm handling it."
"Hey!" Rigar's voice broke through in frustration. "Get back here! I'm your opponent, you coward—"
Spade ignored him, his gaze shifting briefly to the cards in his hand before flicking back to Rigar. His smile widened as he delivered the words coldly. "Allow me to make this simple. We're called DECK, and we're on a mission. That mission? To kill every member of the Pyre family."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Rigar's eyes widened in shock. "What? You… want to kill us?"
Spade's grin didn't falter. "That's right. Is there a problem with that?"
Before he could respond, the red-haired girl—Clover—interjected with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes suddenly alert as she surveyed the situation again.
"Huh?"
A loud, sharp voice echoed from the direction Clover had entered, the same passenger section where Christa and Radix were last seen. Spade, leaning casually, turned his head toward the disturbance with an air of indifference, his carefree expression giving way to a hint of surprise
Clover's eyes narrowed as she approached, her voice cutting through the tension. "We know you had the child. We watched you board the carrier with him, so where is he?" Her tone betrayed a hint of frustration.
Christa's face remained calm, though her words were steel.
"Did you really think I wouldn't put my child above everything else? What do you want with us, you savages?"
Clover's lip curled into a sneer.
" paralyzes all movement—all movement, including the flow of energy in your body. You're only able to speak because I'm letting you." Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Now, quit the act and tell me where the child is, or I'll make this far worse for you."
Christa's eyes blazed with defiance. "What kind of mother would reveal her child's location to murderers? Are you that stupid?"
Clover's face twisted in fury. "You insolent wench!"
Her arm shot forward, but she stopped short of striking Christa, clenching her fist as she remembered her orders—to kill them with a single blow, as a form of twisted "respect." The restraint only fueled her anger further, and she resolved to pour that rage into the final strike. The strike that would end her.
From the rear of the carrier, Rigar strained against his magical bindings, the helplessness gnawing at his soul. He could hear every word, but he couldn't see Christa—couldn't do anything to protect her. His mind raced with bitter frustration.
As expected of Christa, he thought, the smallest flicker of hope in his chest. She must have hidden Radix just before she was trapped. He clung to the thought like a lifeline. They may catch us, but with her quick thinking, he'll be safe. But… how do I break free? Rage surged in him, followed by bitter self-reproach. Damn it!
In a desperate move, Rigar spoke aloud, his voice trembling slightly but resolute.
"You want me, right? The second son of the royal family of Hertz…"
Christa, even in her bound state, couldn't resist a dry, ironic smile. "There you are," she murmured. "Still full of yourself, even in our final moments. Typical of the man I love."
Ignoring her barb, Rigar's tone shifted, softer, more pleading.
"Please, take me and leave them alone. I'll go willingly. They have nothing to do with this." His words carried the weight of genuine sacrifice. If they took him, perhaps he could bargain with their employer. He was still royalty, after all, even if exiled. If the worst came to pass, at least his family would be spared.
Spade eyed him with an unreadable expression, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"Alright, if that's how you want it." His gaze flicked toward Clover. "Do it."
The air tensed as a sharp, slicing sound followed his command. Rigar's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't see what happened, but in the next heartbeat, the faintest shimmer of blue flame appeared at Christa's throat. One of Clover's cards had embedded itself there, its edges flickering with eerie, otherworldly fire—the ancient flames of old.
Rigar could only watch, paralyzed with horror.
The flames hissed as they devoured Christa's blood, vaporizing it the instant it emerged, fueling the inferno that spread slowly, internally, through her body. There was no gush of red, no outward display of violence, using her very life force as fuel, spreading like wildfire through her body. Her expression remained frozen, her body rigid under the effects of , yet the torment was clear.
Clover stood watching, a twisted smile curling on her lips, savoring her victim's silent suffering.
Through the haze of pain, Christa's final words slipped out, soft and unbroken, meant for only one.
"Radix… be well."
Then, as the flames overtook her entirely, her consciousness faded, and Christa Pyre was no more.