For Sarah, these weren't just words; they were layers of jagged knives carving into her pride.
Since the very beginning, she had been holding back. The mysterious archer had hindered her from seizing Lawrence, and the old servant had died right under her nose—a man she had brought to his death because she couldn't protect him. The arrogant stares, her inability to dictate the flow of events... everything had been moving according to the whims of this woman, Livna.
Sam wasn't just a strategic mastermind to Sarah. Strange as it felt, she had begun to consider him something of a friend. He would call her "Beautiful Lady" at times, and to her, that meant something—she had no friends, no true acquaintances.
And now, this woman was attempting to snatch Sam away, as if she were erasing every shred of honor and majesty Sarah possessed. It was as if Livna were trying to seize her very home by force. Everything was being taken by force... but Sarah was not weak, and she would never be again.
Even if her own heart had to burn with its own flames, she would turn them into dark ash that no one would ever recognize. In the vast airfield, the metal began to liquefy. Everything melted. It was time for the agony of hell.
Sam, however, dreaded this outcome. If the Queen of Aarib were slaughtered now, they would be hunted by forces they weren't prepared to face. No one would be able to protect Sarah then; there wouldn't even be time for regret.
Sam moved, placing himself directly in the path of Sarah as she surged forward to eliminate Livna.
He exhaled deeply before her. She was visibly taller than him, yet he looked her straight in the eye, and she met his gaze. He gestured for her to leave. He tried to place a hand on her shoulder, but the searing heat repelled him—even in her madness, she was struggling with all her might not to hurt him.
She simply stared at him in silence. Sam sighed, a faint smile spreading across his face.
"My Lady... how about we depart?"
Sarah did not want to leave without reclaiming her rights—her pride, her dignity. Her logical mind was restraining her from making a fatal mistake, yet she refused to swallow the bitter taste of defeat.
As Sam looked into her eyes, he understood exactly what that gaze meant.
Without a word, he turned toward Queen Livna, who was cowering on the ground, and delivered a powerful kick to her stomach.
"Arghhh!"
He made her scream in agony, but he didn't stop there. He, too, found a dark satisfaction in it. He struck her again in the stomach, then delivered a blow to her face as she lay on the ground. The guards tried to move, but their bodies refused to obey, paralyzed by the surrounding aura.
The bandaged man with the arrows attempted to aim at Sam, but it was a clumsy, desperate move. With a single, swift motion of her scythe, Sarah severed his head.
A moment later, his body evaporated into thin air.
Feeling a sudden, brief surge of awe, Sam didn't dwell on the Queen. Instead, he stepped toward Lawrence and ground his head into the dirt as he lay sprawled on the floor. Then, he turned to the boy, delivering a rain of sharp slaps until he felt it was enough.
He smiled at Sarah, and she mirrored it with a faint smile of her own.
At that moment, she deactivated her demonic state. Her body, pushed to its absolute limit, began to collapse. With lightning speed, Sam caught her and hoisted her onto his shoulders. He sprinted with every ounce of strength he possessed. By the time the guards regained control of their bodies, Sam had already breached the cloaking barrier. If they were seen by the public now, it would be a disaster.
A powerful concealment field had been erected over the airfield, rendering the entire area invisible to the common eye, as if it didn't exist at all. That was why no one had noticed the carnage unfolding within. Queen Livna's movements had to remain shrouded in absolute secrecy to hide her scandalous obsession with young men—a secret that was supposed to be hers alone.
The guards were desperate to pursue and eliminate Sam and Sarah, but seeing the Queen in such a dire, humiliated state, they chose to retreat and attend to her wounds.
And so, Sam had made his first enemies in this vast, cruel world. They certainly wouldn't be the last.
On the other side of the barrier, Sam pushed his body beyond its limits, ignoring his own exhaustion. He reached the car and sped toward the hospital to ensure Sarah's safety. As the signal returned to his phone, a flood of missed calls from Clara drowned his screen.
The situation was becoming increasingly complicated for him. Yet, he decided to stay by Sarah's side at the hospital, no matter the consequences that awaited him
Upon arriving at the nearest hospital, Sarah was rushed into intensive care. When the doctor finally emerged, he noted that she was suffering from a severe deficiency in blood circulation but assured Sam she would regain consciousness shortly.
Sarah's demonic form was, in essence, a manifestation of pure magic. Once the transformation ended, she reverted to her usual, delicate appearance. To Sam, it felt as though the form was merely a "costume," leading his mind to wander—were her curves in that form even real? He quickly shook off those distracting thoughts.
As he prepared to leave, having ensured her stability, a realization struck him. In most literary works, an individual must offer a sacrifice to gain temporary, immense power. But for the Smorguth lineage, it was different. Their flames were fueled by raw emotion—rage and hatred. Essentially, the Smorguths were a clan of "madmen driven by fury."
Sarah possessed a talent that surpassed even the head of the family—Clara's father. Yet, she had always been marginalized for being the youngest. She had sought to prove her worth to everyone, but in the original timeline, the villainess Clara would eventually seize Sarah's potential through the "Sacred Fire Manipulation" technique, becoming the most powerful fire-wielder in history.
That was the beginning of the end of the world. If Sam wanted to prevent the apocalypse, he had to protect Sarah from Clara. Though Sarah was currently in her "infancy" regarding her powers, caution was mandatory. Clara must never learn of his connection to Sarah.
Despite their relationship being a simple master-servant dynamic for now, Clara had begun to trust him, even if just a little. For the time being, that small crack of trust was enough for Sam to exploit.
Sam requested Sarah's driver to drop him off at the nearest bus station so he could make his way back to the Academy. However, the driver flatly refused, stating he could only take orders directly from Lady Sarah. Realizing it was futile to argue, Sam decided to set off on foot along the highway, despite having no idea who might pick him up.
Standing on the highway at midnight, not a single soul stopped for him. After several failed attempts, Sam made a desperate decision: he stripped off his clothes. In his current dusty, tattered state, he looked like a vagrant—no one would ever stop for someone like that. He decided to stand in the biting cold, wearing nothing but his underwear, hoping some bus driver might take pity on him and let him board.
But as he stood there on the shoulder of the highway, a luxury car began to slow down in front of him. As he approached, the driver's side window slid down. There sat a man in a suit, but he wasn't the one who mattered.
His attention was fixed on the young man in the passenger seat—the piercing green eyes and the perfectly proportioned physique. Sam would never forget the cold fury within those eyes.
It was Edmund.
Edmund looked at Sam, who was standing there in his underwear, and a mocking smile spread across his face.
"It seems to me you're in desperate need of a ride to the Academy... Why don't you join me? We're both heading the same way, after all."
This made Sam shudder to his core... Why was this man here?
Had the future been altered? Edmund was supposed to return, exhausted, two months from now. Yet, here he was, standing right before him. Had he already claimed that powerful artifact, or not? It seemed impossible.
"Don't worry about me," Sam stammered, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. "I was waiting for someone here. It's none of your business. Just... keep going."
Edmund let out a soft, mocking chuckle as he looked down at Sam's frozen knees, which were visibly trembling before him.
"Waiting for someone, hmm? You look more like a lost soul to me," Edmund said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Anyway, I have a warm jacket here in the car. What do you say?"
Before Edmund could even finish his sentence, Sam was already inside the vehicle.
"You truly are the most virtuous of men, Your Highness Prince Edmund," Sam muttered, his teeth chattering from the cold.