"Christa! What was that sound!? Christa, answer me!" Rigar's voice was frantic, his words choked with desperation as his gaze darted around the confined space of the carrier.
Spade tilted his head, a smug smirk spreading across his face as he toyed with his pencil. "Your wife? Oh, she's dead."
The cold, matter-of-fact tone sliced through Rigar's panic like a blade, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. Rigar's mind reeled, struggling to process what he had just heard. He strained harder against the invisible chains that bound him, helpless to do anything but listen.
Spade's eyes sparkled with twisted amusement. "Do you still not get it? We were sent to erase your entire family. So even if you offer yourself up, it's not going to stop anything. It just means you want to go first." He chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery. "And I'm not feeling that generous."
Rigar's heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as Spade's words sank in. His mind spiraled through a chaotic storm of emotions—grief, rage, fear, disgust. It was as if his very soul was breaking apart. Christa, the love of his life, was truly gone.
Spade's voice cut through again, harsh and cruel. "You just heard your wife being murdered. Thrilling, wasn't it? But don't worry—soon enough, you and your son will be joining her." His laugh was light and carefree, as if he were discussing the weather rather than playing god with their lives.
Rigar could only stare, fury and despair swirling inside him as this boy—this child—manipulated them all like puppets on a string. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the magic that bound him rendered him utterly powerless. His body refused to move.
Spade twirled the pencil between his fingers, almost absentmindedly. "Any last words?" He grinned wickedly. "Oh, that's right, I shut your mouth." He raised the pencil, its tip glowing with an eerie, violent light.
"Come to think of it" Spade stopped for a bit, seemingly in thought. "I remember he said there was something special about these particular cards he gave us. 'even if the opponent has the constitution of a sage' he said' he let out a vile grin as he finished and instead threw a card right at Rigar's forehead.
"And that's it."
In the blink of an eye, the card transformed into a thin, searing beam of light, slicing through the air and piercing Rigar's forehead. The force of the spell left a five-centimeter hole in its wake, the light fading as quickly as it had come. Rigar didn't even have time to register the pain. He was dead before he hit the floor, his eyes frozen in a blank, horrified stare.
Spade exhaled slowly, inspecting his pencil with a look of satisfaction. "Orders are orders, after all," he muttered to himself. "Single hits."
But something wasn't right.
Clover's voice snapped him out of his reverie.
"Hey, idiot! Where's the kid? We've taken care of both parents, but we still haven't found the child." Her tone was sharp, impatient. "Weren't you going to make him talk?"
Spade sighed, rolling his eyes.
"What kind of progress do you expect with a man who just watched his wife die? No, I'll just use this." With a quick motion, he cast
The spell activated, its web of magical energy spreading across the carrier. But no signal appeared. Spade frowned and tried again. Then again.
"That's odd," Spade muttered, his brow furrowing. "The spell's not picking up anything. It's as if the kid just… disappeared."
Clover narrowed her eyes, stepping forward. "Disappeared? What the hell are you talking about? We saw her holding him when she boarded!"
"I know what I saw," Spade snapped, frustration seeping into his voice. "But there's no one else here except you and me, and—wait…" His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. "Spirits? Can you sense any spirits here Clover?"
His expression hardened. "So that's why I can't find him with
"I know!" Clover shouted. "
Five glowing orbs of light materialized in the air, swirling around them with increasing speed. Spade and Clover braced themselves, their postures tense and alert as the lights pulsed and shimmered. But despite their efforts, the orbs dissolved into the air, vanishing like mist before their eyes.
Spade's voice was filled with bitter frustration.
"It's too late. You disrupted their energy, but not fast enough. They didn't have enough power to send him to his destination, but you didn't stop it either. That woman… she was quicker than we realized."
Clover cursed under her breath, her face twisted with fury.
"Damn it! That woman wasn't normal. If she could use spirit magic like that, I doubt I'd have been able to even touch her in a fair fight." She spat on the floor, her anger palpable. "So, what now? Do we report the kid dead?"
Spade's expression softened into a cruel smile.
"Of course. He's probably been dumped somewhere in the Latent Groove, and he's barely learned how to walk. There's no way he'll survive." He flicked his pencil, a bright light enveloping both of them. "Our job here is done.
In a flash of light, they vanished, leaving behind the still bodies of Rigar and Christa Pyre, lifeless and cold. The carrier, its automated course still engaged, continued barreling forward through the wilderness, bound for nowhere. Without a command to stop, it finally slammed into the side of a mountain, shattering on impact, its wreckage scattered across the landscape.
Meanwhile, deep within the forest of the Latent Groove, the distant cries of a small child echoed through the trees. Radix, stumbling and crawling, his tiny hands clutching at the underbrush, wailed into the emptiness.
"Mama… Papa… where are you?!" His voice cracked as he called out, his small body shaking with exhaustion.
At last, he collapsed face-first into the dirt, his energy spent. For a moment, the forest was silent—until the soft sound of footsteps approached. A shadow loomed over him, the silhouette of an old man standing in the twilight.
The old man bent down, examining the fragile child at his feet with a curious gaze.
"Well now," he muttered, lifting the boy gently and hoisting him onto his back. "It's not every day you find a kid wandering these parts. Poor thing must've gotten lost."
With a deep sigh, the old man began his slow trek up the hill, towards a small, solitary house nestled in the distance.
Glossary
CRUSADER: Someone who has awakened their Ether's unique nature and is able to perform arts and techniques.