The air crackled with tension as the battle between Ruel and Father erupted into action. Ruel's muscles tensed, his eyes locking onto Father with predatory intent. Without hesitation, he was the first to move, charging forward in a blur of speed. The sound of his boots pounding against the ground echoed in the tense silence.
"Sharp Nail!" Ruel roared, his voice filled with venom as a faint glow shimmered around his figure. His entire body surged forward, doubling his speed in an instant. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble as he closed the distance between them, his sword poised to strike Father's chest with deadly precision.
But Father, calm and composed, didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed as he extended his hand outward, fingers splayed, as if commanding the very air around him.
"Wind Repel!" Father's voice rang out, authoritative and unyielding.
In an instant, a barrier of shimmering wind materialized between them, invisible yet powerful. Ruel's sword, which had been hurtling towards Father with enough force to cleave through armor, stopped in its tracks as if it had struck an impenetrable wall. The blade vibrated in mid-air, inches from Father's chest, as Ruel's eyes widened in surprise.
"Tsk," Ruel growled in frustration, pulling back with a sharp hiss. "You and your tricks."
He leapt backward, his body twisting through the air with an agile grace that belied his bulk. He landed several meters away, his boots skidding across the floor as he readied himself for another strike. But Father wasn't going to give him the chance to recover.
"Wind Eagle!" Father commanded, his voice carrying an edge of resolve.
The air around Father shimmered once more, this time coalescing into five distinct shapes. From the swirling vortex of wind, five ethereal eagles emerged, their eyes gleaming with an unnatural light as they spread their wings and launched themselves at Ruel with frightening speed. Each gust of wind left a sharp, whistling noise in their wake as they swooped down on their target.
Ruel's eyes narrowed, quickly assessing the situation. He knew he couldn't take them head-on, so he raised his sword and spun in a tight circle, faster and faster, until his figure blurred. "Spinning Shield!" he shouted, his voice gruff with concentration.
His sword became a whirlwind in his hand, the blade moving so quickly it created a barrier of rotating steel. The wind eagles collided with the spinning shield, each impact sending shockwaves through the air. Feathered fragments of wind scattered in all directions, the ethereal birds dissipating into the air with a mournful screech.
When the dust settled, Ruel stood in the middle of the battlefield, panting but unharmed. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and smirked. "That kind of magic wouldn't hurt me," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. His eyes gleamed with malice as he straightened his stance, lifting his sword confidently. "So if you treasure your life, old man, you'd better get out of here while you still can."
Father, though visibly tired, remained unshaken. His expression was calm, his eyes narrowing slightly at Ruel's bravado. "You're a cocky one, I'll give you that," Father said, his voice low but filled with an undercurrent of menace. His serious gaze didn't waver, not for a second. "But no matter what you say, it won't affect me one bit. Do you know why?"
Ruel raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in whatever Father had to say, but Father continued, unfazed. "Because I know someone who is a hundred times stronger at swordsmanship than you," Father said with a smirk, his words calculated to hit Ruel where it hurt most—his pride.
Ruel's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly covered it with a sneer. "Big words, old man. I'll show you who's really the better swordsman."
Father's smile widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You know, kid, I could kill you this instant if I wanted to," Father said, his tone chillingly casual. "But I choose not to because, despite everything, you're still a citizen of this kingdom." His words hung in the air like a death sentence, the weight of them pressing down on Ruel. For a brief moment, doubt flickered in Ruel's eyes, but his arrogance wouldn't allow him to back down.
What Father was saying might have sounded impressive to Ruel and the others watching the fight, but I knew better. I'd seen Father fight many times before, and this wasn't his usual bravado. This was something else entirely.
Father was running low on mana.
He might have been trying to hide it, but I could see the signs. The slight tremble in his hand as he cast spells, the way his breathing had grown labored—it was all too obvious to me. Father had been casting too many intermediate-level spells in a short amount of time, and now he was reaching his limit. The thing about magicians is that when they run out of mana, their bodies give out. They collapse, unconscious, and if they push themselves too far, they could even fall victim to mana sickness—a condition that could leave them bedridden for weeks.
I swallowed hard, a knot forming in my stomach as I realized just how dire the situation was. If Father collapsed in the middle of this fight, Ruel would kill him. And then he'd come for me.
As the battle between Father and Ruel raged on, I couldn't help but notice something out of the corner of my eye. Movement—quick and deliberate. I turned my head slightly, just in time to spot the blonde man who had been standing by Carson's side earlier. He was creeping toward us, his body low to the ground, trying to stay unnoticed.
His intent was clear. He wasn't moving toward Father or Ruel—he was heading straight for me and Chris.
My heart pounded in my chest as I realized what he was planning. He was going to take us hostage, use us to force Father to surrender—or worse, let Ruel finish him off. I couldn't let that happen.
"Chris, at your back!" I shouted, my voice filled with urgency.
Chris, who had been focused on the battle between Father and Ruel, spun around at my warning. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the blonde man sneaking up behind her, his hand reaching for the dagger at his side.
Without thinking, Chris scrambled backward, her foot kicking up the ground as she prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation.
"Tsk, there's no other choice," the blonde man muttered, his frustration barely concealed. His gaze sharpened as he made his decision, his body tensing before he lunged towards us with swift, desperate movements. I could see the intent in his eyes—he wasn't aiming to talk, but to take action.
"Water shield!" I shouted, my voice filled with urgency as I threw my hand out in front of me. In an instant, a shimmering wall of water materialized between us and him. The man crashed into it headfirst with a heavy thud, his body bouncing off the barrier. He landed on his back with a groan, winded, as his arms flailed helplessly for a moment.
He looked up, his face twisted in irritation, and rubbed his sore head. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to figure out his next move.
"Chris, don't kill him," I instructed, my voice firm but calm despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I wasn't eager to end anyone's life. "Aim at his leg so he can't move."
"Okay," Chris replied, her face resolute as she stepped forward. Her eyes locked onto the man struggling to get up from the ground. I watched as she began to cast, her hands forming intricate shapes in the air as water began to gather around her.
"I call an arrow of water here and now. Let the tremendous protection of water be upon the location thou seekest," she incanted, her voice steady and commanding.
"Water arrow!" she shouted, and with those words, three crystalline arrows formed from the swirling water at her fingertips. They shot forward with deadly accuracy, speeding towards the blonde man, their edges gleaming under the light.
The man barely had time to react. His eyes widened in fear as the water arrows struck his legs with a sickening thud.
"I'm sorry, Mister Conrad," Chris whispered apologetically just before the arrows hit their mark.
"AAAARRRGGHHHH!" Conrad screamed, clutching his leg in pain as the water arrows embedded themselves into his flesh. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony, his once determined face now twisted in a mixture of pain and rage.
Conrad? The name echoed in my mind, stirring something faint but familiar. Where had I heard that name before? It nagged at me, hovering just out of reach, but there was no time to dwell on it. My thoughts were cut short as something else drew my attention—someone else.
Before I could fully process the scene in front of me, an unsettling sensation washed over me. It was like a shadow had passed over, a predator moving in for the kill. My instincts screamed at me to turn, but I was too slow.
Without warning, Carson appeared by my side, his sword raised high, the sharp metal glinting ominously in the light. I hadn't even sensed his approach—his speed, his silence, all caught me completely off guard.
"Don't think that I'll just stand here and watch my men get beaten one by one," Carson growled, his voice laced with venom. His lips curled into a malicious smirk as his blade swung downwards, aimed directly at me.
I froze. My body felt like it had turned to stone, the cold edge of fear gripping my chest. The sword seemed to cut through the air in slow motion, my mind racing but my limbs unable to react fast enough. Was this it?
Just as the blade was about to connect, I heard a cry—Father's voice, filled with desperation and rage.
"CAAARRSSOOONN!!"
"WATER JAVELIN!!"
Time snapped back to its normal pace, and before I could blink, a water javelin soared through the air, aimed directly at Carson. Father's magic moved with incredible precision, but Carson was still faster. His sword descended closer and closer to me, and I braced for the worst.
But then, in the blink of an eye, a figure appeared in front of me, blocking my view entirely. The impact was immediate. I heard the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through flesh, and my heart sank.
"CHRIS!" I shouted, my voice cracking with fear as I realized who had taken the hit. She stood in front of me, her back turned, the sword embedded into her body. Blood stained her clothes, but through the haze of panic, I noticed something odd—her clothes were also wet. Had she cast a spell before taking the blow?
Despite the pain, Chris stood tall, her body trembling but her voice steady as she turned her head slightly to address me. "Don't worry, Will," she said, her voice soft but filled with determination. "This time, I will protect you."
Her words hit me like a wave, and for a moment, despite the chaos around us, I felt a swell of pride. Chris had come so far. She had grown stronger, braver, more determined than I could have ever imagined. But the sight of her bleeding in front of me was unbearable.
Before I could do anything, Father's water javelin found its mark. It slammed into Carson's shoulder with a force that sent him flying back several meters. The sheer power of the blow was enough to pierce his flesh, and Carson hit the ground with a heavy thud. Blood poured from the wound, but he was still alive, though barely.
Father's face was a mask of fury, his eyes burning with a fire I had never seen before. "Don't ever dare touch those children!" he roared, his voice booming across the battlefield. He was preparing to cast another spell, his magic gathering in the air around him like a storm about to break.
But before he could unleash it, Ruel, who had been watching with keen eyes, decided to strike.
"Are you forgetting about me?" Ruel's voice cut through the tension like a knife. With a vicious grin, he activated his skill once more.
"Sharp nail!" Ruel shouted, his speed doubling as he charged toward Father, his sword glinting dangerously. The ground beneath him seemed to blur as he closed the distance between them in an instant.
Father barely spared him a glance. His focus was razor-sharp, his expression cold and unyielding. "I don't have time to waste on you," he said, his tone dripping with disdain.
With a flick of his wrist, Father cast another spell.
"Water Curtain," he commanded, and a massive, shimmering wall of water appeared behind him just as Ruel's sword came crashing down. The blade struck the barrier, but it bounced off harmlessly, as though repelled by an invisible force.
Father's eyes narrowed, and he retaliated swiftly. "Water Arrow!" he shouted, and in the next breath, five arrows of pure water materialized and flew toward Ruel. They struck him with unrelenting force, each arrow finding its mark.
"AAAARRGGGGGHHHHHH!" Ruel screamed in agony, his body crumpling under the assault. He fell to his knees, clutching at his wounds, his breath ragged and shallow.
Father, still standing tall and imposing, glared down at him. The battlefield had fallen eerily silent, the only sound the shallow breathing of the fallen combatants.
The tension in the air thickened as Father glared at Carson, his eyes burning with an intensity I had never seen before. This wasn't the Father I grew up with, the one who would gently ruffle my hair after a hard day's training or smile when I accomplished something. No, the man before me now was different. He was unrecognizable—an embodiment of fury, a predator on the verge of killing his prey. The coldness in his voice, the way his gaze locked onto Carson with the sole intent to destroy, made my blood run cold.
"Now let's go back to you, Carson," Father said, his voice low and chilling, dripping with a deadly calm. Every syllable held a promise of violence, and his eyes narrowed as if they alone could cut through Carson's defenses.
"You want to kill my family?" His words were venomous, each one tightening like a noose around the battlefield. "Then I'll just kill you."
The finality of his words shook me to my core. There was no hesitation, no mercy. Father was ready to do what I never imagined he was capable of: kill. His hand shot forward as he shouted, "Water Javelin!" The spell formed quickly, a spear of water materializing in mid-air, its sleek, lethal form reflecting the sunlight as it streaked toward Carson with devastating speed.
I stood frozen, helpless, watching as the javelin closed in on Carson. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat louder than the last, drowning out all other sounds. I wanted to scream, to plead with Father to stop, but no words came out. My throat was tight, my limbs felt like lead. I had never been this terrified of Father. The calm man I knew had transformed into a monster, and the thought that he could do this so easily paralyzed me. Is this how he is on the battlefield? The question echoed in my mind, a chilling realization that this was a side of him I never knew.
As the javelin closed in, I felt a sickening certainty that Carson would die. His expression shifted for a moment—fear, resignation, and then nothing, as if he had accepted his fate. My chest tightened, and the world around me seemed to slow. But then, at the very last moment, a figure dashed forward.
It was Conrad.
With arms spread wide, he leapt in front of Carson, his back facing the oncoming attack. The water javelin struck him with brutal force, piercing straight through his stomach and out his back, the sharp tip glistening with blood. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, and Conrad's body staggered under the blow before collapsing to his knees.
For a moment, everything stood still.
Father, who had been so consumed with rage moments before, suddenly dropped to his knees. His face drained of color, and the monstrous aura that had enveloped him dissipated in an instant. He was no longer the terrifying figure of moments ago. Now, he was just a man—broken, horrified by what he had done.
"W-what did I just do?" Father's voice cracked, barely above a whisper, the weight of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His eyes, wide and filled with disbelief, were fixed on Conrad's fallen form.
"CONRAD!!" Carson shouted, his voice raw with anguish as he rushed toward the fallen man. He knelt beside him, his hands shaking as they hovered over Conrad's body, unsure whether to touch him, to offer comfort, or simply to witness the life slipping away from him.
Conrad, despite the gaping wound in his abdomen, smiled weakly up at Carson. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his breaths shallow and uneven. Yet, there was a strange serenity in his eyes. He knew his fate.
"Sir Carson," Conrad rasped, his voice hoarse and wet with blood, "with this, I have already paid what I owe to you." He coughed violently, a spurt of blood staining his lips, but his gaze remained steady. "Thank you… for helping us when we were in need. I'll just ask one more favor."
Carson's eyes brimmed with tears as he leaned in closer, gripping Conrad's hand, the weight of the moment suffocating him. "Anything, Conrad," Carson whispered, his voice breaking.
"Please… don't tell my family that I died," Conrad said, his voice growing fainter, each word a struggle. "Instead, tell them… I was just sent on a mission." Another cough, this one deeper, more painful. Blood smeared his chin, but he forced himself to finish. "I… I don't want them to be sad."
Carson squeezed his hand tighter, his face contorting with the effort to hold back sobs. "I will, Conrad. I swear it."
With a final, shallow breath, Conrad's body slumped to the ground. His eyes, which had moments ago been full of life, dimmed, and his chest rose no more. Carson stared down at him, his hands trembling as he gently closed Conrad's eyes. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the soft, ragged breaths of those still living.
Father remained on his knees, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he stared at Conrad's lifeless form. There was no trace of the rage that had fueled him earlier, only a hollow, crushing guilt. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He looked lost, broken by the weight of what he had just done.
Carson, his face tear-streaked, gently laid Conrad's body down, his hands lingering on his underling's shoulder for a moment longer before standing. He didn't say a word as he looked down at the man who had sacrificed everything for him, his heart heavy with grief.
The world felt eerily quiet, as if even the wind dared not disturb the scene. The weight of Conrad's death hung in the air, thick and suffocating, a reminder of the cost of this senseless violence.