The classroom was in total disarray when the princes returned. The school had mobilized its strongest members to gather at the classroom, fearing the worst—that the princes had fallen and the Demon Lord had escaped. To their utmost surprise, the princes simply appeared, looking completely unfazed with smiles on their faces.
"Wait... they defeated the Demon Lord?" Damian asked, his voice trembling with shock, a sentiment echoed by everyone gathered there. A Demon Lord is a world-class calamity that usually requires the summoning of a legendary hero to defeat.
They possess powers far beyond a high S-Rank, yet one had been obliterated by just two young children.
Due to the trauma of the Mr. Xenes ordeal, the school was granted a week off. The position of Class President remained in Damian's hands, as both princes flatly turned it down. The week started off mind-numbingly boring for the brothers; they spent the first two days in the library, but the lack of stimulation soon caught up with them.
On the third day, while the princes were studying, Prince Marcel walked in, his gear already packed for an adventure.
"Are you guys free today?" Marcel asked, standing in the doorway.
"Yes, we are," Leon replied. "Do you have anything interesting planned?"
"We're heading to a dungeon on a mountain at the edge of the forest," Marcel explained.
"Word reached us that a group of adventurers went missing there. We're going to rescue them, or recover them, depending on whether they're still alive."
"So you want us to come along?" Leo asked.
"That's your choice if you want to," Marcel replied.
"That's great, we're interested," Leon said. "But wait—you keep saying 'we.' Is anyone else tagging along?"
"Yes, Lloyd is coming with me," Marcel replied.
"The Second Prince is going too? Is it that serious?" Leo asked, surprised.
"We don't know the gravity of the situation yet, but we'll find out when we get there," Prince Marcel stated, turning to leave. "If you're interested, hurry up and meet me at the courtyard."
"But is it okay to bring children along? What would Father say?" Leon called out, with Leo nodding in agreement.
Marcel paused at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Those 'children' fought a Demon Lord and came out alive. There's no way anyone still believes you two are just children. And don't worry about Father—I already secured his blessing."
With that, Marcel walked out, leaving the twins to prepare for their next challenge.
The brothers dropped their books and headed out immediately. The journey was smooth and quick, and they arrived at the dungeon entrance just a few hours later.
The princes entered together, with Leon and Leo visibly excited; they hadn't seen a real dungeon before and were eager to see what one held within.
As they ventured deeper, the path suddenly split into two. Unsure of which route the missing adventurers had followed, Prince Marcel suggested they divide the party. Lloyd and Leo took the left path, while Marcel and Leon took the right.
At first, the journey was uneventful, but they soon encountered a pack of roughly thirty wolves. With a single wave of his hand, Prince Marcel unleashed a fireball that completely obliterated the pack, allowing them to continue their journey. Moments later, a piercing scream echoed from ahead, and both brothers bolted forward toward the sound.
"Please, you can't die on me! Please!" a young lady cried, holding a man in her arms. He had been brutally injured in the chest; he was clearly one of the five missing adventurers.
Marcel walked gently toward her and touched the man's body. "I'm sorry," he said in a somber tone as he stood back up. "He is already dead."
The lady screamed, inconsolable at the loss of her comrade. Marcel gave her a moment to process the grief before offering her his hand. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I wish I had arrived sooner—perhaps he would have lived, but..." He took a steadying breath.
"The more time we spend here, the more likely it is that your other comrades will die. We need to keep moving for their sake. I promise we will come back for his body and give him a proper burial when we return. Please, pull yourself together. Let's survive."
She knew he was right, even through her tears. She steadied herself and followed him. Leon, however, stood frozen, staring at the fallen man.
"Leon! Pull yourself together!" Marcel stated, not looking back. "This happens on the battlefield. You need to be strong—not just for ourselves, but for those who remain and those who died for the same cause."
Leon snapped back to reality and followed them—or so they thought. In truth, it was merely a clone he had created, while he simultaneously cast an invisibility spell on himself. The clone trailed after Marcel, perfectly mimicking Leon's presence.
As the party vanished around a bend, the real Leon stepped out from the shadows and stood over the fallen man, a daring, forbidden smile on his face. He was about to attempt something reckless: he wanted to try a resurrection spell.
His brother had once performed a nine-way resurrection spell that cost three lives just to save one. That spell carried a heavy price, and Leon wasn't about to attempt it. However, there was another, far more dangerous resurrection spell buried within the Lost Art.
Though it had been struck from history, it was originally designed as a resurrection rite. The price was to battle Death itself for an entire hour; if you survived the hour, you earned the right to save a soul.
It was abolished and labeled a "Death Spell"—the "Final Gamble"—because no one had ever survived the encounter. Anyone who perished during the battle with Death died for real, and not a single practitioner had ever lived to tell the tale.
Knowing the risks, Leon was left with only one option. He decided to perform the reckless move.
"After all, what's life without risk?" Leon said with a smile.
He stretched his hands forward and took a deep breath. Suddenly, two circles appeared on both sides of his face, connected by a straight line to his mouth. As the circles transformed into ethereal maws, Leon began reciting the ancient incantation. All three mouths whispered the forbidden words simultaneously:
"The door of the undead, the deal for a life,
The bargain at the end, I pledge my life,
And in death's time, a life for a life.
Open Death's Door: The Final Gamble."
A glowing circle appeared beneath him and the fallen comrade. A pillar of light shot upward, building a dome of energy that shielded Leon and the adventurer from the rest of the world.
Suddenly, Leon's consciousness shifted into a trance. He found himself standing in a white void, bisected by a towering black dome. Standing before it was a figure in a shroud, towering over seven feet tall—it was the personification of Death itself.
You dare attempt to strike a bargain with Death? Do you truly believe the fabric of mortality is a child's plaything?" The figure spoke, its voice not merely sound, but a rhythmic vibration that echoed through the hollow infinity of the white void. The shroud of rough, tattered cloth draped over its frame, and the massive, ancient tome clutched in its decaying hands radiated a chilling, oppressive presence that threatened to freeze Leon's very essence.
"You are correct," Leon replied, maintaining a calm, unwavering posture while a slight smile touched his lips. "It is far from a child's game. But what makes you so certain I am a child?"
The entity paused, its hollow gaze fixed upon him. "Indeed, I sense the echoes of an ancient soul within you. You are fully conscious of the terminal decision you are about to make,a decision that leads only to erasure."
"I am," Leon confirmed, his voice steady. "Besides, the path was carved the moment I uttered the incantation. You know as well as I do that there is no turning back from the Final Gamble."
"That is correct," the figure said, the massive book vanishing into thin air as if it had never existed. "Then let the battle begin."
High above, a massive hourglass manifested, its sand glowing with an ethereal, spectral light. As it flipped, the battle commenced. Death moved with a horrifying, supernatural grace, manifesting a barrage of jagged spears that tore through the void from every conceivable direction.
Leon darted through the onslaught with incredible speed, his reflexes honed by centuries of combat, dodging the projectiles by mere millimeters. Yet, without warning, Death surged forward, manifesting a massive, obsidian axe. It swung with the force of a falling star, but Leon sidestepped at the final heartbeat, countering with a colossal fireball that surged with the intensity of a dying sun. The explosion rippled outward, yet the figure stood amidst the flames, entirely unfazed, its shroud not even singed.
As I expected, the personification of Death is not so easily brought to heel, Leon thought, his heart hammering against his ribs as he launched himself backward to create distance.
In a blink, Leon felt a piercing, freezing agony. Death was already behind him, a long, obsidian spear driven clean through his chest. Blood sprayed from Leon's mouth as he gasped.
"The result is always the same," the figure muttered, its tone devoid of emotion. "You cannot defeat the inevitable. I am immune to the laws of physical force and the triviality of magic. You possess nothing that can harm me." The entity withdrew the spear, and Leon's body collapsed, disintegrating into a pile of grey ash.
But a moment later, Leon stood a few feet away, clutching his chest where the wound had been. I did not even see it move, he realized, a flicker of genuine alarm crossing his mind. Its speed is a grave problem. "Well," Leon whispered, his voice laced with a defiant mockery, "a little challenge is the perfect warm-up for me."
"I just skewered your heart," the figure noted, tilting its head in curiosity. "How do you still draw breath?"
"Damage negation," Leon replied, his smile returning. "You struck true, but I successfully shifted the terminal impact to a spectral copy. I have entirely prevented the registration of fatal damage."
"Is that so?" the figure inquired. In a heartbeat, the spear pierced Leon again. The figure was behind him before the echo of his movement faded, but as the spear drove through, the body erupted into dust, and Leon appeared unscathed, standing a short distance away.
"You are relentless," Leon admitted. "My eyes simply cannot track your speed."
"You are resourceful, I will grant you that," the entity replied, its voice growing darker. "But the next strike will undoubtedly be your end." It began to advance, its presence looming like an approaching winter.
"Are you certain?" Leon countered.
Suddenly, the spear lashed out—not at his heart this time, but at his neck. In a flash of motion, Death decapitated him, Leon's head falling to the ground where the body dissolved into dust. Yet, the figure found only silence. Leon remained a few paces away, looking only slightly annoyed.
"Alright," Leon sighed, wiping dust from his shoulder. "No more reckless moves." He clapped his hands together, manifesting over a hundred shimmering clones. The army of illusions surrounded the entity, their voices echoing in perfect, eerie unison. "It is time for you to discern the original from the fakes."
"You have piqued my interest, young one," the figure replied, unmoved. "But you have greatly underestimated the reach of my realm."
With a single, sharp snap of its fingers, a storm of spears erupted, obliterating the clones one by one. Yet, to the entity's profound surprise, as soon as a clone vanished, it reformed, relentless and undying. The figures did not attack; they simply persisted, refusing to be removed from existence.
The entity glanced upward. The hourglass was nearing its final grains of sand. If the stalemate held, Leon would emerge the victor.
Frustrated, the figure lunged toward the center of the clone formation, slamming a staff of pure shadow into the ground. A wave of abyssal energy exploded outward, obliterating everything in its path, leaving not even a speck of dust in the void.
In that moment, the hourglass chimed—a hollow, final sound. The battle was over.
The figure stood amidst the silence, only to hear the soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps from behind. It turned, finding Leon standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, looking entirely composed.
"And so," Leon began, his voice echoing with an air of absolute finality, "we have reached the conclusion of our engagement. Which means... I won."