[Verdantis]
[Briarwick]
Corpses of the cultists littered the streets of the town, their blood staining the pristine snow. Among them were bodies of townsfolk mixed in; it was a slaughter.
"Casualty report," Asaun ordered with a grimace as he stared at the state of the town known as Briarwick.
"We have suffered none, captain," one of his knights informed. He gave a nod of pride as the man continued, "These lot, however, seemed to be reanimated corpses and not pure Vel'ryrians; our keener knights had detected a hint of mana from them."
"I see, these damned heretics..." Asaun murmured in disgust. "They would not even leave the dead be." He shook his head. "But what of survivors?" He could not see the knight's face, but keen perception and instincts told him it turned grim.
"By the time we arrived here, many townsfolk were already dead," the knight grimaced as he continued. "We've managed to round up the last few survivors, but we will sweep the town once more. We've yet to check all locations."
"I see, most unfortunate." A deep sigh left the knight captain's lips. "I shall assist in the search for more survivors. Where have you yet to look?" The knight gestured to a lone, slightly worn-down wooden building.
"The inn remained untouched by us and the adversaries," the knight explained. Asaun opened his mouth to speak but was stopped when a large tremor resounded through the entire area. Buildings that still stood quaked and threatened to tumble over, along with that, an enormous wave of snow in the distance was kicked up. Asaun's keen eyes narrowed in that direction; he saw a distinct and enormous mana signature.
"The spawn of Octavia is battling someone?" He asked.
"Aye, a monster in the skin of a man," the knight shuddered. "He wielded strength that surpassed us and even the spawn of Octavia."
"An Von Auerswald mayhap," Asaun murmured in thought. "Stay clear of that area; we would only get in the way if we were to intervene. But tell me, barring our little songstress and Ser Dante, is there any other Inheritor in this side of Verdantis?" The knight hesitated before speaking.
"T-there is only Lady Lyraeth," the knight informed. Asaun winced as soon as he heard the girl's name. "Captain, would it not be better to get Ser Dante here? Among the Inheritors, he is the most powerful, no?"
"He is, but currently he is bound to the archbishop as his guard," Asaun stated with a shake of his head. "It would not do us well to take away a personal guard from a member of the governing body." The knight nodded in understanding at his words. "For now, send word to Lady Lyraeth and have her support the spawn of Octavia." More tremors rebounded through the area as Asaun stared into the distance. "If she has not yet bested her opponent, it could only mean it is someone formidable; she might need support."
"At once, captain," his knight parted with a quick salute. Asaun, meanwhile, ignored the various tremors as he moved through the town, giving silent prayers to the bodies of the unfortunate souls. It was not long until he reached his destination: the inn his knight had informed him of. His senses were not detecting anything beyond those doors, not anything living at least.
He pushed past the door and immediately heard the creaking of wood as his armored feet touched the wooden floor. His nose twitched; the familiar scent of blood filled his nostrils. Though the scent led upstairs of the inn.
"Blood drops also lead upwards," the knight captain muttered, his tone low. His armor's clanking was the only thing heard throughout the inn as he made his way up the creaking wooden stairs. The scent of blood only further intensified as his gaze locked onto something: the body of a child.
Messy brown hair and emerald eyes wide and frozen in horror. There was a large and deep gash on his back; mercilessly he was cut down. Asaun kneeled down to the body, reaching out a hand, he closed the boy's eyes.
"May the Gods guide your soul," Asaun stood up, glancing to the side where an open door was. Beyond that, a stronger scent permeated the area. Entering the room to a more tragic sight, a mother's body was protectively over the corpse of another child, perhaps a sibling of the boy. Asaun grit his teeth as he approached the two. The sight of Death was not new to the knight captain.
He has witnessed it a number of times; however, the Death of children was too much even for him. He looked at the two's expressions: the mother had a blank look upon her face, and the girls eyes were puffy, closed in fear. But then he noticed something. Reaching out, he took it; it was a piece of paper. A rather crude drawing was on it.
Stick figures, one with a wild head of seemingly white hair and large red eyes—a woman judging by the assets. Then in the middle was a small girl of smaller proportions, brown hair and green eyes, and finally a figure with a head of long blue hair. Asaun heaved a deep and heavy sigh.
The world was a cruel place, as was reality.
------------------
[Outskirts]
The sharp whisper of steel slicing through air came within a hair's breadth of Lucinda's face. The moment she registered the glint of the blade, she jerked her head to the side, just narrowly avoiding a deep, fatal gash. Yet even her swift reflexes did not spare her completely—the cold bite of metal kissed her cheek, parting skin. A hot, searing pain followed as crimson streaked down her pale face. But there was no time to acknowledge it.
Selwyn pivoted on his heel, his motion fluid, his sword carved an arc through the air, the sheer force of his swing howling. Snow erupted in a gust, sent cascading outward in an explosive shockwave. Lucinda reacted instinctively, pushing off the ground in a sudden burst of speed. Her body twisted, coiling midair as she narrowly evaded the sweeping slash. The power behind it was enough to carve deep trenches into the frost-covered earth.
She landed several paces away, her boots sliding slightly across the ice-packed ground. Without hesitation, she raised a hand to her cheek, magic flaring to mend the wound.
Selwyn sighed, exhaling a misty breath into the frigid air. His crimson eyes, filled with something akin to disinterest, flickered toward her.
"This is getting rather tedious." His voice carried the same flat, unbothered tone as always, as if the battle itself was nothing more than a dull inconvenience. He rolled his shoulders slightly, the motion languid and relaxed, before shaking his head.
"I even moved the battle outside the town so you could use that 'Arcane Ascendance,'" he continued, his tone edged with something close to disappointment. His red gaze locked onto her with scrutiny. "Yet you still disappoint."
Lucinda grit her teeth, fury flashing through her like an electric current. His words cut deeper than any blade.
"I care not for your enjoyment, monster!" she spat, her voice seething with raw anger. Without hesitation, she flicked her hand forward. A sphere of searing flame coalesced in her palm, the fireball whistled through the air like a speeding comet, aimed not at Selwyn, but at the ground before him.
The impact was immediate. The moment it struck, a violent tremor rippled through the frozen land. The explosion sent a hail of snow into the sky, a wall of white swallowing the battlefield whole. The storm of frost swallowed sight, but Lucinda had already begun her next move.
("In my Inheritor form, my magic would be effective... but there's a change in plan. Tier 5 magic should work—Familial Arts will suffice.")
She exhaled, steadying her thoughts as she reached deep into the reservoir of power that coursed through her being. Then, she spoke.
"Familial Arts: Seraphic Chorus."
The temperature dropped even further as the air around her warped and distorted. An eerie hum reverberated across the battlefield, a resonance that did not belong to this world.
Darkness twisted and coalesced before her, a vortex of writhing mana forming in the heart. From its depths, shadows emerged—shadows clad in gleaming black armor, their forms indistinct yet undeniably menacing. They stood in formation, a phalanx of warriors, each bearing a massive blade. Their helmets lacked visors, their faces swallowed by emptiness.
The first soldier stepped forward, its advance swift without hesitation, it lunged, its sword carving through the mist.
Selwyn's gaze sharpened. His fingers tightened around his blade.
The clash came like a thunderclap.
His sword intercepted the strike, steel meeting spectral metal in a collision that sent a shockwave rippling outward. Sparks scattered like stars against the snow. The dark soldier pressed forward, undeterred, swinging again—then another followed, and another.
Lucinda did not stop.
More warriors materialized, their ranks swelling, until dozens of black-armored figures filled the battlefield. They moved in unison, an unstoppable tide of converging upon Selwyn.
Selwyn exhaled through his nose, his patience visibly thinning.
Then he moved.
His blade flickered, a blur barely perceptible to the eye. The lead soldier barely had time to react before its torso split in two, its form unraveling into wisps of fading black.
Another soldier lunged. Selwyn pivoted, parrying effortlessly before twisting his wrist and driving his sword straight through its core. He kicked the fading remnant aside and turned to the next.
Their coordinated attacks should have been overwhelming—should have been inescapable. Yet Selwyn wove through them easily.
Lucinda clenched her fists, pouring more mana into the spell.
Dark tendrils slithered across the area, creeping along the ice, twisting and coiling. They lunged at Selwyn, seeking to ensnare him in their grip.
For a moment, it seemed they had caught him.
Then, with a single fluid motion, Selwyn severed them.
The tendrils screeched as they recoiled, but they did not stop. They reformed instantly, striking again, relentless in their pursuit.
Lucinda's soldiers pressed their attack, their black blades flashing. Selwyn moved between them, his sword a blur in speed. One soldier fell, then another. A third tried to flank him, only to be met with a swift backhand strike that sent its form scattering into the wind.
Yet he was still untouched.
Lucinda grit her teeth.
Her eyes dropped towards her fallen army. Her magic faltered for a moment before she summoned forth a blast of dark mana that seemed to sweep away her defeated soldiers like leaves in a breeze.
The blast expanded rapidly, exceeding a range of 200 meters as everything in its path was eradicated. From any distance, all anyone would see was the enormous explosions that eradicated all. It tore through the terrain, engulfing boulders, trees and everything in its path.
The shockwave that followed seemed to rattle the lang, sending debri high into the sky. Fissures and cracks spread about on the already devastated ground. Slowly but surely the explosion waned, closing in on itself, then it was gone.
What was left before her was naught but devastation.
Selwyn was nowhere to be seen.
But she knew her magic had not reached Selwyn. He had simply left; his interest in her was no longer there. She was not even worth killing.
Not felled. Not wounded.
Just… gone.
Lucinda stood there, trembling, her breath ragged and uneven as she stared at the emptiness where her adversary had once stood. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest—how could he simply leave?!
How dare he?
She had thrown everything at him—her power, her summoned legion—and yet he dismissed her like an insect, like nothing.
The weight of it crushed her.
She staggered forward, her body drenched in cold sweat despite the frigid air. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
"Raaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!"
Her scream shattered the silence. It carried across the desolate land, twisted by the winds into something raw. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, her trembling hands digging into the ice-laden ground.
"Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!"
Her fist slammed into the frozen earth with brutal force, the impact sending painful shocks up her arm, but she didn't stop. Again. And again. And again. Cracks formed beneath her clenched fingers, the ice splintering under the sheer force of her rage.
Her body trembled violently. Her teeth ground together, her breath hitching as she choked on the weight of her own inadequacy.
"Why are you so damn useless!? You're the spawn of Octavia! THAT'S ALL YOU ARE!"
Her voice cracked.
Blood welled from her clenched fist, dark droplets staining the icy ground. Her nails dug into her palm, carving deep, stinging crescents into her flesh. Her entire body felt like it was caving in, her mind drowning in the suffocating storm of failure.
And then—
Something within her snapped.
The air grew thick.
The world seemed to bend under an invisible weight as a sudden, suffocating force pulsed outward from Lucinda's trembling form.
"Damn it..."