---
A Temporary Victory
The battlefield was a mess of blood and steel, bodies strewn across the land, both friend and foe. The metallic scent of iron mixed with the stench of death, yet the Kaelthorne knights stood tall. Their breathing was heavy, their armor dented and bloodied, but they had held the line.
As the enemy forces retreated, Orin Velst, the commander of the Kaelthorne knights, stepped forward. He raised his sword high.
"WE HAVE HELD OUR GROUND!"
The knights, though exhausted, let out a thunderous roar.
"FOR KAELTHORNE!"
Their victory cry echoed across the battlefield. It was not the end of the war—far from it. But this battle was theirs.
Yet amidst the triumphant voices, one figure remained unmoving.
Azrael Kaelthorne stood, his body barely holding itself together. Blood dripped from the countless wounds covering his frame. His Abyssal Suit was torn in places, revealing deep gashes underneath. His once-magnificent Abyssal Coat was stained in red.
His breath was ragged.
His grip on Necrilith trembled.
And then, his knees buckled.
Azrael collapsed onto the ground, one hand stabbing Necrilith into the dirt to keep himself from fully falling. His golden eyes, filled with unyielding determination, slowly began to dim.
Orin, still gripping his sword, turned in alarm. His commander—his Young Grand Duke—was falling.
"Azrael!" He rushed forward, grabbing his shoulder.
Azrael chuckled weakly. "It seems... my body has reached its limit."
And then, his eyes fully closed.
---
The Camp – Two Days Later
Pain.
A dull, burning pain coursed through Azrael's body the moment he opened his eyes. He felt restricted, bound.
His golden gaze flickered open, only to find himself lying on a bed in a dimly lit tent.
Bandages. Everywhere. From his toes to his neck, his entire body was wrapped, only leaving small openings for movement. His face, too, had a few bandages covering the side of his cheek and forehead.
His Abyssal Suit was gone. Instead, he wore simple patient clothes.
The realization irritated him.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue and tried to sit up, only for a sharp pain to shoot through his ribs.
Orin, who had been sitting nearby, looked up from his seat. "You're awake."
Azrael exhaled sharply, finally managing to sit up. His golden eyes locked onto Orin. "How long?"
"Two days." Orin crossed his arms. "You collapsed right after the battle. We carried you back."
Azrael glanced at his body, feeling the stiffness of his limbs. Two days of rest had done little to heal his wounds.
He turned to the side of his bed, where a few bottles of high-level healing potions had been placed. Without hesitation, he grabbed one and uncorked it.
Orin's brows furrowed. "Oi, don't drink them all at once—"
But Azrael ignored him.
One bottle. He downed it instantly.
Another. A warm sensation surged through his body, closing some of his wounds.
A third. The aching in his chest lessened slightly.
He continued until he had consumed twelve high-level healing potions.
And yet—
The injuries did not fully heal.
Azrael clicked his tongue, realizing his body had suffered more damage than he initially thought. The wounds left by Aura Level 10 warriors were not so easily erased.
Ignoring the lingering pain, he stood up.
Orin sighed. "You should rest—"
"I have no time for that."
Azrael reached for the side of the tent, where his Abyssal Suit and Coat had been placed. Slowly, he dressed himself, his movements stiff but unwavering. He wrapped the Abyssal Coat over his frame, concealing most of the bandages, then secured Necrilith to his waist.
Finally, he reached for the Abyssal Crown Necklace and placed it around his neck.
Even injured, his presence radiated an overwhelming aura.
Orin sighed again. "So? Where are you going?"
Azrael adjusted his coat. "The rear camp. Elaris Velmira is there. I need to meet with her."
Orin raised a brow. "You sure you don't want to rest?"
Azrael shot him a glance. "Are you implying I need it?"
"...Tch." Orin smirked, shaking his head. "Fine. But don't die on the way."
Azrael stepped forward. As he moved through the camp, the knights and mercenaries turned to him, their gazes filled with respect.
Some whispered among themselves.
"He's already up…?"
"That man is a monster."
"Even after fighting two Aura Level 10 warriors, he still walks?"
Azrael ignored them.
He had more important matters to attend to.
---
Rear Camp – Meeting with Elaris
The rear camp was quieter than the front lines, but it was far from peaceful. Wounded soldiers lined the area, some receiving treatment from mages, while others lay still—waiting for their fates.
Azrael walked past them without hesitation, his steps steady despite the pain in his limbs.
And then, he felt it.
A presence.
A familiar one.
Elaris Velmira.
The princess stood near one of the healer tents, her long light blonde hair shimmering under the sunlight, her shining red eyes widening the moment she saw him.
She took a step forward. "Azrael?"
His golden gaze met hers.
For a moment, she simply stared. And then, her expression darkened.
She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto the bandages wrapped around his body.
"...Oh god." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "You're reckless."
Azrael scoffed. "It was necessary."
Elaris frowned. "Necessary? You're barely standing."
She lifted her hand, golden light gathering at her fingertips.
Before Azrael could say anything, the warmth of healing magic surrounded him.
The moment the spell activated, a soothing sensation rushed through his body. The pain, the stiffness—it all began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming warmth.
Azrael narrowed his eyes. Healing magic of this level… It wasn't normal.
Elaris stepped closer, her red eyes narrowing. "Don't move."
Azrael remained silent, allowing her to continue. The light of her magic seeped into his wounds, closing them at a rate far faster than any potion had.
A few moments passed before the magic faded.
Elaris exhaled. "That should be enough for now."
Azrael flexed his fingers. The pain had lessened dramatically. He was still sore, but his body no longer felt like it was on the verge of collapse.
He glanced at her. "Not bad."
Elaris rolled her eyes. "I swear, you're impossible."
Azrael smirked. "I get that a lot."
She crossed her arms. "You need to be more careful. If you die, it will be troublesome."
Azrael's smirk widened slightly. "Worried about me?"
Elaris scoffed. "No. I simply don't want to deal with the aftermath if you die."
Azrael chuckled.
Even now, she refused to admit it.
But he could see it—the concern hidden beneath her sharp words.
He turned. "I will return to the front lines soon."
Elaris exhaled, shaking her head. "Of course you will."
Azrael took one last glance at her before stepping away. His wounds were healing, but the war was far from over.
And he had no intention of stopping here.
---
End of Chapter 39.