The room was dim now, lit only by a few wavering candles. Outside, night had fallen; the last traces of sunlight had disappeared hours ago. The air inside smelled of herbs and warm iron, and the low hum of magic made the walls seem to breathe.
Iris pressed her trembling hands against her knees to steady herself. Five hours already… she thought. Her gaze flicked back to Kael's still body on the ritual table. His chest rose and fell shallowly. At least the violent coughing had stopped, but his skin was still deathly pale and cold.
She swallowed hard and looked at Jaesper, who hadn't moved from his position at Kael's side. The mage's brow was soaked in sweat, his eyes glowing faintly as his hands hovered over Kael's chest.
"How much longer until we're done?" Iris asked quietly, her voice cracking.
Jaesper didn't look up. His jaw was tight, his focus unbroken.
"I'm barely a quarter of the way through repairing his core," he said grimly. "It's worse than I imagined."
His eyes shifted briefly to hers. "When I try to bind the shards together, they scatter even more. Lord Kael's mana core… it's like glass held together with threads. The Demon King's curse must have eaten away at it for years."
A thin trickle of blood ran from Kael's nose. Jaesper hissed under his breath.
"This is what happens when I move too fast," he muttered. "The core resists. I have to slow down or it will shatter completely."
Iris quickly took a cloth and wiped the blood from Kael's face. "You're sure this will work?" she whispered. "His Highness wants him to wake, to see this world again…"
Jaesper's fingers twitched as he worked. "If there's any chance at all, this is it. But the price… the price might be more than we think."
Iris pressed her lips together and said nothing more. The tension between her ribs felt like a blade.
Then—heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond the door. Loud. Urgent. The deep clank of armor. Raised voices. A man shouting orders.
Iris froze, her head snapping toward the sound.
"What now?" she murmured.
Jaesper didn't even blink, though his shoulders tensed. "Go. See what's happening. I can't stop now."
Iris hesitated for only a second. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the side door, pushing it open into the adjoining room.
"Reinhardt—" she began, but her words died. Reinhardt wasn't there.
Only Robert stood waiting near the wall, arms crossed but his expression taut. His usual composure was gone; he looked almost sick.
Iris closed the door quickly behind her. "H-how is he?" Robert asked at once, stepping toward her.
"No, we're not done yet," Iris said, breathless. "His core is still too fragile. Where is Lord Reinhardt?"
Robert's fingers tightened on his sleeve. "He went to check on the courtyard. Something's happening—Elric is still out there with the Crown Prince."
The shouts outside grew clearer now, echoing up the corridor like distant thunder. Someone barked an order, and the clatter of boots on stone answered.
Iris's pulse spiked. "The ritual—if they barge in—"
Robert's eyes flicked toward the hidden door that led to Kael's chamber. "They won't," he said, but his voice was unconvincing. "Not yet."
Iris drew a shaky breath. "Then we must hurry. If they discover him now…"
Robert nodded stiffly. "Keep him alive, no matter what. Reinhardt will handle the rest."
For a heartbeat they just stared at each other, listening to the muffled chaos outside—the clash of armored boots, the bark of orders, and the tense hum of soldiers on the move.
Inside the ritual room, Jaesper's chanting continued, low and relentless, weaving through the thickening night like a lifeline. Kael remained silent and unmoving, the center of a storm he could neither see nor hear.
-----------------------------------------
Elric's eyes widened the moment she saw the palace soldiers drag a struggling young woman into the courtyard.
Her mind raced. She's not one of mine… but I've seen her before.
It clicked—this was the girl who had arrived earlier with Reinhardt, the one who had kept herself hidden.
Stanford, still mounted until moments ago, dismounted with a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
"Well, well…" he drawled as he approached the soldiers. "I know this girl."
He reached out and roughly seized Lucy by the arm. "So this is where you've been hiding."
Elric's lips pressed into a thin line. Her heart was hammering, but her face remained unreadable, as cold as stone. She hadn't expected Lucy to wander off while she'd ordered Reinhardt's men to stay hidden. This is bad.
Stanford turned his eyes on Elric, his smile sharp as a blade.
"Now I have proof," he said softly, but loud enough for the soldiers to hear. "It seems you've been harboring Reinhardt here. You're keeping the traitor."
The soldiers shifted uneasily, surrounding her at Stanford's signal. Steel hissed softly as blades loosened from their scabbards.
But Elric didn't move. She tilted her chin upward, her expression calm, her voice cool and steady.
"I don't know that girl. She isn't my servant," she said.
Stanford's grin widened, almost feral. "Don't lie to me, Duke Vaelthorn. How could a mere palace servant come all this way from the Imperial Palace to your land without your knowledge? Where is Reinhardt?"
He was practically giddy. At last his suspicions were confirmed: Reinhardt and the remnants of the Hero Campaign were here, hidden under her protection at the Northern Gate.
The soldiers tightened their circle. Stanford flicked his hand, and steel glinted closer to Elric. She raised her head and looked directly at the Crown Prince.
"You accuse me," she said, her tone dropping into something dangerous. "Do you know what will happen if you anger me further? Retreat now, or your soldiers will never set foot inside the palace again."
The words rolled across the courtyard like thunder. The soldiers faltered, exchanging nervous glances. They all knew Elric's reputation—Duke Vaelthorn, defender of the Northern Gate, the one who had held back monster tides when no one else could.
But Stanford didn't flinch. Instead, he yanked Lucy forward by the hair, dragging her to her knees.
"Where is Reinhardt?" he barked. "Speak!"
Lucy trembled, her face pale with fear, but she kept her mouth shut. She would not betray Reinhardt.
Stanford's eyes darkened. With a snarl, he drove his boot into her stomach. Lucy gasped and folded over, coughing.
"You filthy traitor!" he roared. "Do you know how I deal with those who betray me?" Another kick. "Answer me!"
Elric's fingers twitched. Her breath came sharp through her nose. Every instinct screamed at her to move, but she forced herself to stay still, watching the scene unfold like coals burning in her chest.
"Stop," she said, her voice low.
Stanford ignored her, raising his foot again. "I'll beat it out of you—"
"Enough."
In a flash, Elric summoned her bow, the sleek weapon materializing in her hand with a surge of violet mana. She drew the string, the arrow glowing faintly with power, and aimed it straight at Stanford's heart.
"Stop hurting her," Elric said coldly. "Take one more step and you'll return to the palace missing a limb."
All at once, every soldier tensed. Weapons came up; shields shifted forward. The air between them crackled with killing intent.
Stanford turned slowly toward her, laughter spilling from his lips. "You dare threaten a Crown Prince?" he sneered. "You're a mere duke, my lady. I am royal blood."
Elric's bow didn't waver. "And you forget something, Your Highness. You're on my land."
She tilted her head slightly. At that subtle signal, the courtyard changed. Shadows shifted, and from the high walls and hidden positions Vaelthorn guards emerged, bows drawn, spears leveled. The sound of armor locking into formation rang out like a drumbeat.
Stanford's soldiers stiffened as they realized they were surrounded. The Crown Prince blinked, stunned for the first time. His eyes flicked around the courtyard and then back to Elric, fury replacing his smirk.
Elric's voice was steady as steel. "Release the girl. Or you and your men will not leave Vaelthorn alive."
For a heartbeat, silence fell. Even the night wind held its breath.
The atmosphere in the great hall was suffocating. The air felt heavy, every breath edged with steel. Vaelthorn's soldiers stood in perfect formation, bows drawn and spears poised, encircling the palace troops. Across the circle, Stanford straightened slowly, his smile curling like a snake's.
For a long heartbeat, no one moved. Then the Crown Prince laughed—sharp, mocking, and far too loud for the tension of the room.
"Do you really think you can frighten me?" he sneered. "All of you—nothing but threats. You wouldn't dare touch me. None of you would."
Before Elric could reply, Stanford moved. In a blur of motion, he drew the sword from his waist and lunged forward, the blade glinting under the torchlight.
Elric's eyes widened. She brought up her bow just in time, the string humming as steel struck wood.
Clang!
The impact rattled through her arms. Stanford pressed forward, snarling. "Do you think a mere bow can stop me?" His sword flashed again, a vicious downward arc meant to cut past her guard.
Elric twisted aside, pivoting on one foot. Her bow swung with her, intercepting the blade again. Sparks jumped as steel and enchanted wood clashed. She slid back a step, steadying herself, then shoved him off with a sharp jab of the bow's limb.
Stanford snarled, recovering his footing. He came again, swinging in tight, brutal arcs. Elric parried each strike with practiced precision, her movements fluid and controlled. The bow spun in her hands, its string catching the blade, the limbs knocking it aside. Each clash echoed like thunder in the hall.
"You—" clang! "—arrogant—" clang! "—fool!" she hissed between strikes.
Stanford roared and drove forward, but Elric ducked low, sweeping her bow across his wrist. Pain jolted through his arm, and his grip faltered. With a twist and a sharp shove, Elric disarmed him—the sword clattering to the floor.
Before he could react, she spun and struck him hard across the chest with the bow's reinforced limb. Stanford stumbled backward, gasping, and dropped to one knee before her.
The palace soldiers froze in shock. The Crown Prince, the heir to the throne, humbled by a single blow from the Northern Duke.
Elric straightened, bow still raised, her expression cold as ice. "Now you lose," she said softly but clearly, her words cutting sharper than any blade. "What a sight—seeing you fall before an archer who hasn't even drawn an arrow on you. Pathetic, Your Highness."
Color rose to Stanford's face—not from exertion, but humiliation.
Elric turned her gaze to the palace soldiers. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Drop your weapons, or you'll watch your lord lose his head next."
For a moment, no one moved. The soldiers glanced at each other, caught between duty and fear. Slowly, one by one, swords and spears clattered to the floor.
"No!" Stanford spat, clutching his shoulder. "She'll never dare to—"
He didn't finish. A twang split the air, and an arrow hissed past Elric's bow. It buried itself deep into Stanford's shoulder, just shy of his heart.
He let out a guttural groan, clutching at the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. "You—!"
"Don't be a child, Stanford," a new voice said, calm and unhurried. "She aimed to miss your heart."
Stanford's eyes snapped up. His breath caught. Walking through the parted ranks of Vaelthorn soldiers was Reinhardt, his steps slow, deliberate. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glowed with something far darker than anger.
"You…" Stanford hissed, hatred and fear mixing in his tone.
Behind Reinhardt, more figures emerged—the remnants of the Hero Campaign, silent and grim. They formed a ring behind the Vaelthorn guards, steel glinting in the dim light.
For the first time, Stanford's bravado cracked. "You wouldn't—" he began, but Reinhardt raised a hand.
In one smooth gesture, Reinhardt signaled.
The hall erupted.
Vaelthorn soldiers surged forward in perfect formation. The Hero Campaign moved with lethal precision, blades flashing. Before the palace troops could recover from their shock, the first fell with a strangled cry, then the next, then another.
The Crown Prince's guards had no chance. They had come expecting an inspection, not an execution. One by one, they were cut down where they stood, the sound of steel and blood filling the grand hall.
Stanford struggled to rise, but his knees buckled. The arrow in his shoulder pinned him like a mark of death. Around him, his soldiers fell silent, their bodies crumpled on the stone floor.
Elric didn't look away. She held her bow steady, watching as Reinhardt's men finished their grim work. In her heart, a single thought burned: This will change everything.
Reinhardt stopped in front of Stanford, his shadow falling over the kneeling prince.
"Now, Your Highness," he said quietly, "we're done playing your game."