Leo returned to the Black Border Outpost not as a weapon, but as a wounded man. His refusal to burn the village had left him physically drained, his human blood drying into dark crusts on his dragon-scale mantle. But there was no time for recovery.
A priority-red signal flashed in his chamber. Captain Mara's voice, distorted by distance and interference, crackled through a communication crystal.
"Leo... the Shadow Council has activated the Spires. They aren't just towers—they're drains. If they reach full capacity, they'll hollow out the Eastern District in hours. The King... he's ordered an immediate strike. You're the only one fast enough."
The Necrotic Spire
Leo arrived at the base of the first tower, located in a desolate valley once known for its lush meadows. The structure was a jagged needle of obsidian and bone, pulsing with a sickly violet light. Around its base, the air didn't just feel cold—it felt empty, as if the very concept of life was being siphoned away.
He felt the Hellfire surging. After being suppressed in the village, it was now a starving predator.
"Look at it," the white-haired man whispered, appearing in the reflection of Leo's blade. "It's a parasite. It's what they think of you. Kill it. Feed me."
The Shattering Truth
Leo unleashed a concentrated beam of black-red flame, slicing through the outer shell of the tower. He expected to find gears, mana-crystals, or dark artifacts.
Instead, as the shell fell away, he saw the truth.
Inside the tower were hundreds of glass pods. In each pod sat a commoner—villagers, farmers, even children—suspended in a violet fluid. Their mouths were open in a silent, eternal scream. Thin, spectral tubes were attached to their chests, extracting their raw life force to power the tower's necrotic beam.
Leo froze. The Hellfire in his hand flickered. "They're... they're using people. They're using them as fuel."
The King's Command
A projection of the Magic King, Alaric, appeared before him. The King's face was grim, his eyes lacking their usual warmth.
"Leo, do not hesitate," Alaric's voice boomed. "The tower is minutes away from firing on the Capital's outskirts. If you don't destroy it now, tens of thousands will die."
"But the people inside!" Leo shouted, gesturing to the pods. "If I burn the tower, I burn them! There has to be another way!"
"There is no time!" Alaric countered. "This is the burden of a King, Leo. And it is the burden of the Flame. You must sacrifice the few to save the many. Destroy it. That is an order."
The First Scar on the Soul
Leo looked at the pods. He saw a man who looked like his father. He saw a woman who could have been from Hage. They were alive, but their souls were being used to sharpen the enemy's blade.
With a roar of agony that was more human than magical, Leo let the Hellfire explode.
He didn't look at the pods as they vaporized. He didn't listen to the way the glass shattered. He simply turned the valley into a lake of molten slag. The violet light died, the beam vanished, and the Capital was saved.
The Aftermath
Leo stood in the center of the smoldering crater. The silence was deafening. He had saved the kingdom, but for the first time, he felt like a murderer.
The Hellfire didn't recede this time. It settled into his skin, turning his veins a permanent, glowing amber. It wasn't rage anymore; it was a cold, heavy Certainty. He realized that the Shadow Council had built the towers, but the Magic King had provided the hand that lit the fuse.
"They aren't heroes," Leo whispered to the ash. "None of them are."
High above, Umbra watched the smoke clear. He didn't mock Leo this time. He simply drifted closer.
"The screams are louder than the fire, aren't they, Prince?" Umbra whispered. "Now you finally see the world as it truly is: a choice between those who use you, and those who want to set you free."