The helicopter grew smaller in the sky, disappearing into the clouds. Varian, the one-armed Night Shade, allowed a small smile to form. Their lord had departed, leaving him with the solemn duty of shaping the young Night Shades into formidable warriors.
Varian gathered the novices in the training grounds, his imposing figure casting a long, ominous shadow over the eager yet anxious trainees. His voice, stern and commanding, cut through the air with the precision of a blade.
"Recent events have made it abundantly clear that you are lacking. While you may possess skill, you are devoid of true battle experience. This is unacceptable."
He shook his head gently, yet even with only one arm, he appeared nothing less than formidable.
"Henceforth, I will escalate your training to levels previously unheard of. Some of you may perish... some of you will perish. But those who survive shall emerge as shadows worthy of serving our lord."
His gaze swept over the determined expressions of the young Night Shades, who stood rigid under his scrutiny.
"Amongst you, those who prove to be exceptional will earn the honor of becoming the lord's shadows, entrusted with the sacred duty of guarding his very life."
A collective gasp rippled through the group, igniting their spirits. A singular thought filled their minds.
Varian, satisfied with their resolve, continued, "Say your farewells to the village. In seven days' time, we shall depart for a place known as the Underground, a hidden danger zone. Your objective will be to conquer a region of the Underground and vanquish any obstacles in your path."
Meanwhile, Alicarde was fast asleep, his head resting gently on Carrisa's shoulder. Everything had unfolded precisely as she had anticipated, with only a few minor exceptions.
Carrisa leaned her head on Alicarde, looking pristine as ever. She could feel Argint's gaze upon her; the vibrant red hair of the half-werewolf girl was indeed eye-catching. Carrisa could more or less discern that Argint suspected her involvement in the orchestrated events, but she did not react.
Instead, she silently contemplated how best to utilize the half-werewolf girl to her advantage. Her desire for revenge would be the key.
Carrisa then turned her attention to Alicarde, who was still peacefully sleeping. He was her greatest treasure—not merely because of personal affection, but because of what he had become. An undying belonged with an eternal, and an eternal without an undying was incomplete.
That relationship remained unchanged, irrespective of their genders. However, Carrisa believed her Alicarde to be special—far superior to any other undying.
First and foremost, he had saved her. Not from the truck—an obstacle that could not have claimed her life—but by giving her renewed hope. From that fateful incident, she had gained three things, Alicarde himself, a true name, and a renewed purpose for living and fighting.
Carrisa had resurrected him on a whim, knowing she had nothing to lose. In the past, she had attempted to revive powerful warriors to aid her in her wars, but after losing everything, she succeeded only in bringing back a mere human.
He was neither powerful nor a warrior, but somehow, Carrisa wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She would not exchange Alicarde for anything.
His transformation had elevated him from a mortal hero to an immortal champion. Her immortal champion.
Alicarde had become her new hope. Though her goals and place in the world had not changed, Carrisa remained steadfast in her ultimate objective.
Carrisa's earliest memory was not one of joy or naivety, as it is for most children. No, her first memory was of nearly being strangled by a maid.
On that day, when she was merely five, Carrisa learned that if she did not fight, she would die. And fight she did, killing her own nanny in the process.
The first person she killed was someone she trusted. From that day, she learned a cruel truth fight or die.
This was the first time her life had been in danger, but it was far from the last. Carrisa soon learned of her family's brutal customs. It was an open secret that most of the emperor's children would not survive to adulthood, and she was no exception.
Carrisa did not desire the throne, but she desired survival far more. Pride held no value in the face of death—she simply wanted to live. Her siblings, however, were indifferent to her desires. It all boiled down to one rule—the ultimate law of nature.
'Survival of the fittest,' Carrisa reflected, lost in her memories.
When Carrisa was finally old enough to leave the nursing home, she was summoned to meet her father, the emperor. She was expected to introduce herself—a peculiar custom, she had thought at the time.
'How unusual,' she had mused, 'Do most parents not already know the names of their children? Why must my father require such introductions?' She was young and naive when she first considered this thought.
At thirteen years of age, Carrisa was clever but still young. She entered the grand throne room—a marvel of luxury, power, and magic. The emperor appeared majestic, almost godlike.
Her young heart was filled with shock at the sight before her. The room was filled with more than a hundred children her age, all there to introduce themselves to their father.
The emperor was so far away that he did not feel like a father—more like a sovereign. Distant and powerful, Carrisa knew that he would not care if she died, as she was merely one of too many.
'All these people are my age, and my siblings. Will I survive with this many people desiring my death? And what of the older ones?' she thought, her youthful innocence rapidly fading.
Carrisa's fears were well-founded. She noticed the wary looks exchanged between her siblings. They would indeed fight and kill. Their father had already set a cruel precedent by eliminating all his siblings.
The rule had always been that those who survived became elders, while the victor became emperor, ruling over them all. He had slain every last one, forcing the elders of his generation to remain until a new batch was ready. Yet, this ruthless practice was not discouraged; it was subtly encouraged.
The very real possibility existed that one of her older siblings would reenact such a massacre, and she would be but a victim, dying a meaningless death.
And so, Carrisa endeavored to survive. The young ones all introduced themselves to the emperor, and with that, they were given equal resources to begin their journeys. If she were to liken it to anything, it would be like the starter packs that Alicarde received at the beginning of the games he played with Amena.
Driven by a desperate desire to survive, Carrisa did everything in her power to grow stronger. She had to. Several years later, she commanded an army of ten thousand. She should have been content, she had outclassed the others in her peer group. But in her fear and complacency, she forgot that the nail that sticks out gets hammered down—or in her case, ripped out.
They ignored her until she decided to capture a Nexus. The first capture went smoothly, and she remained unnoticed. However, emboldened by her success, she quickly went after a second and third Nexus, seeking to increase her chances of survival by acquiring more territory and empowering her followers.
That was when one of her siblings decided that she had become an insect large enough to be worth crushing.
Her army of ten thousand, which she had been so proud of, was obliterated by a single individual. It was not a battle—it was a brutal culling. The enemy was undying. On that day, Carrisa learned firsthand why the undying were so revered in the Empire. She understood the vast chasm of power between an eternal who possessed an undying and one who did not.
Amena, the loyal maid, had foreseen such an outcome. When the enemy appeared alone, she utilized a spatial trinket to gather as many valuables as it could hold and prepared their escape. Consumed by rage and despair, Carrisa refused to leave.
Her soldiers knocked her unconscious when she continued to resist. They handed her to Amena, and together they fled to the mundane world through the Nexus, destroying it behind them to ensure their lady's safety.
Beowulf had his sister taken hostage, and Carrisa knew he would most likely be sent to kill her. She had foreseen this, but by that point, she no longer cared. She had given up. There was no more hope, she would not survive.
'I have lost everything. What did I think I was doing? Of course, I would not survive... But I do not want to die...' she thought in despair.
Her resentment and despair meant nothing in the face of her inevitable demise. It was in that darkness that a foolish human pushed her out of the path of an oncoming truck. She had not perceived its approach in her melancholy.
The impact from being pushed aside was almost like a wake-up call, and that selfless act had given her new purpose.
The human died shortly after, but Carrisa was curious. Why had he saved her at the dire cost of his own life? So, she attempted something she had failed at hundreds of times before—creating an undying. This time, she succeeded.
From the actions of this human, she found hope. He reminded her of happier times when she was a child, reading fairy tales. To her, he seemed like someone straight out of those stories.
'I swore in my heart that he would be mine. And soon, I convinced him—albeit with some degree of coercion. When he looked at me with those tired eyes yet agreed to accompany me...'
She looked at Alicarde leaning on her, gently holding his hands.
'I was overwhelmed with joy, a joy that filled me with renewed hope,' she mused, her thoughts steeped in a regal elegance befitting her stature.
She gently stroked his hair, a few loose strands falling across her fingers. Alicarde's head slipped from her shoulder, landing squarely on her ample bosom. She sighed softly.
'You have brought me immense happiness, though I am not oblivious to your recent, discreet glances at my cleavage,' she thought, her mind sharpening with a composed and observant demeanor.
Carrisa recalled the first time she noticed Alicarde's attempts to maintain an indifferent facade. Initially, she almost believed she had been mistaken, yet with time, she discerned his pattern. To her surprise, she found the entire situation rather amusing—flattering, even.
A delicate smile graced her lips as she whispered,
"Alicarde, you incorrigible rogue."
Everything had proceeded according to her design. The nexus was now in her possession, the primary objective of their venture fulfilled. Though she harbored concern for Alicarde, she was confident he would recover. He had not only grown physically but had also ascended in power. His mana had surged, and he had confronted his guilt. The bicorn familiar had intensified his fear, but no bloodshed had been necessary, and no clan had been massacred.