Vargas felt his stomach churn as he followed Malphas through the bowels of the mansion. The heat of the fire above was replaced by a damp chill and the unbearable stench of iron and viscera. Malphas walked with the indifference of a god of death, his white tunic now stained with spatters of blood that were not his own.
As they advanced through the cellar corridor, the scene grew increasingly grotesque. There weren't just five soldiers; there were dozens. The bodies of the elite Purifiers were piled up—some hanging from beams, others with their throats slit in such a way that blood still bubbled on the floor. Malphas stopped in the center of this silent massacre.
— Inquisitor... — Vane growled, gripping the handle of his flail so tightly that his knuckles turned white. — Look at this. That damned woman... she is a demon. Let me find her first. I'll make her eat every blade she used against my brothers!
Malphas did not turn around. He looked at a pool of fresh blood and saw the reflection of a staggering figure at the end of the corridor.
— You would lose, Vane — the Inquisitor sentenced, his voice icy echoing off the stone walls. — She is not a demon. She is what remains when everything is taken from a human being, except the will to kill.
The Encounter with the Shadow
From the shadows of the last archway, Sálvia emerged.
She no longer looked like the impeccable steward of hours ago. Her uniform was in tatters, soaked in blood—some of it from her enemies, but much of it her own. A deep cut crossed her forehead, blinding one of her eyes with vivid red; her left shoulder was dislocated, and she breathed with difficulty, a hissing sound that betrayed a broken rib.
She leaned against one of the walls, keeping Julian behind her. The boy was in absolute shock, clutching the hem of Sálvia's torn skirt as if it were his only anchor in the world.
— Hand over the child — Malphas ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion. — You can barely stand. Your life has already drained out onto this floor.
Sálvia coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the marble. She did not respond with words. Instead, she forced her body to straighten, a dry crack echoing as she set her shoulder back into place against the wall herself, without uttering a single groan. She drew her two short daggers, which now seemed like extensions of her trembling fingers.
— I warned you, Vane — Malphas murmured, as the executioner took a step forward, drooling with hatred.
Vane could not stand the sight of that wounded yet defiant woman. He roared and swung the flail in a lateral arc, seeking to crush what remained of Sálvia's ribs.
Even wounded, even with her vision blurred by blood, Sálvia's Flow Vision activated as a last spasm of survival. The world turned gray, and the trajectory of the spiked sphere became a vibrant line in the gloom. With a movement that defied her injuries, she spun under the chain, the soles of her feet sliding in the blood accumulated on the floor.
— Die! — Vane screamed, but his flail hit only air.
Sálvia passed him like a wounded specter. In a second, she was behind the giant. Vane felt a sudden heat in the back of his thigh and his weapon arm. Sálvia had cut his tendons with the precision of a surgeon, even without the strength for a lethal blow.
Vane fell to his knees, howling in frustration. Malphas, seeing the scene, finally unsheathed his sword, which glowed with an off-white, blinding light.
— Step aside, Vane — Malphas said, walking toward Sálvia. — She is already dead; she just forgot to fall. I will remind her myself.
Sálvia planted her feet, her body trembling violently from the effort, but the daggers did not lower. She looked at Malphas with the only eye that could still see, and there, the Inquisitor saw something that made him hesitate for a millisecond.
The cellar corridor became a stage of shadows and sacred light. Inquisitor Malphas advanced, his white-light sword emitting a constant hum that seemed to vibrate in the bones. Sálvia, her uniform drenched in blood and her breathing failing, firmed her stance. She knew that every movement now was a withdrawal against the little life she had left.
The Duel of Shadows and Light
Malphas delivered the first blow—a vertical arc of pure energy. Sálvia did not try to block; her blades were too short to contain the weight of that magic. She slid to the left, the movement costing her a muffled groan as her broken rib protested. In the same instant, she counterattacked, throwing one of her daggers toward the Inquisitor's throat.
With a dry flick, Malphas swatted the dagger mid-air and spun his blade in a quick thrust. Sálvia, using the reflex of Flow Vision, tilted her body unnaturally, feeling the heat of the sacred sword burn the fabric of her shoulder. She spun on her heels and, with the remaining dagger, sought the blind spot under Malphas's armpit.
The Inquisitor was surprised by the speed of that dying woman. He took a step back, Sálvia's blade scratching the breastplate of his white armor, leaving a deep mark in the sacred metal.
— You are persistent, freak of nature — Malphas hissed, intensifying the aura around his weapon.
He began a sequence of frenetic attacks. Malphas's white steel was like a whip of light, striking the floor and walls, kicking up dust and sparks. Sálvia moved like a wounded ghost; she used the walls to propel her body, jumping over the strikes and delivering quick cuts seeking the Inquisitor's tendons and joints. For a moment, Sálvia's ferocity seemed to balance the fight. She managed to strike Malphas's face, leaving a trail of blood that ran down the holy man's chin.
The End of the Resistance
However, the human body has limits that instinct cannot ignore. After a minute of violent exchanges, Sálvia's left arm faltered. The hemorrhage from the cut on her forehead began to cloud her only good eye.
Malphas noticed the hesitation. He did not deliver a cut, but rather a burst of runic energy. He slammed the hilt of his sword onto the floor, and a shockwave of white light swept through the corridor.
Sálvia, already weakened, was thrown against a pile of oak barrels. The impact cracked her spine and caused her lungs to collapse. She tried to get up, her nails clawing at the wood, but her legs did not obey. The dagger slipped from her trembling fingers, clinking on the bloody marble.
Malphas walked slowly toward her, the light of his sword dimming to a pale, menacing glow.
— The flow ends here — the Inquisitor said, stopping before her.
Sálvia looked back, seeing Julian huddled in a corner, hands over his ears, crying. She tried to advance one last time, crawling through the blood, but Malphas stepped hard on her back, pinning her to the cold floor.
— You fought like a demon, servant. But even demons bow before justice — Malphas raised his sword, the tip positioned above Sálvia's neck.
She did not beg. She only turned her face toward Julian, a last look of apology crossing her bruised features before absolute darkness claimed her. Downstairs, Kyo's scream of hatred seemed to echo through the mansion's foundations, as if he felt the exact moment the young master's last line of defense fell.
The silence in the cellar was suddenly interrupted by the hum of Malphas's sword. The Inquisitor raised the sacred steel, the white light reflecting in the blood covering the floor, and began the downward stroke to separate the steward's head from her body. It was then that a dry snap of atmospheric pressure caused the torch flames to extinguish instantly, plunging the corridor into a supernatural cold.
The Awakening of the Phantom Blade
Vane, who was watching the execution with a sadistic smile, did not have time to react. A blur crossed the gloom like a bluish bolt. Kyo's hatred had forced his body to burn its own vital essence to purify the poison, turning his blood into a current of frigid energy.
Kyo appeared between Malphas's blade and Sálvia's fallen body. His eyes were bloodshot, emitting a cerulean glow, and the air around him began to crystallize.
— Forbidden Ancestral Technique: The Breath of the Ice Dragon! — Kyo's voice echoed like the cracking of an ancient glacier.
In a millisecond, a blast of absolute cold swept the room. The impact hit Malphas, throwing him against the wall as his sacred sword was encased in a layer of runic ice that cracked the metal.
But Vane's fate was worse. The mercenary, who was closest to the epicenter of the technique, was hit full-on by the cutting blizzard. The ice did not just touch him; it devoured him. In seconds, his legs, torso, and the arm holding the flail were sealed in a massive, translucent block of ice. Vane remained frozen in a grotesque attacking pose, his yellowish eyes wide in shock, unable to move a single muscle or even let out a scream, transformed into a statue of frozen pain in the middle of the corridor.
Kyo fell to his knees immediately after, his saber driven into the ground to support him; his breath came out as a thick mist and his arms trembled violently from the forbidden effort.
Vargas's Treachery
However, amidst the mist of ice crystals, Vargas moved. He was a rat who thrived in chaos. While Kyo tried to catch his breath and Malphas shook the ice from his tunic, Vargas crawled toward Julian.
The boy, paralyzed by terror, didn't even see when Vargas broke a ceramic vial under his nose. A purplish smoke enveloped the boy, who collapsed instantly.
— JULIAN! — Sálvia tried to scream, reaching out a trembling hand, but her wounded body collapsed before she could reach him.
Vargas was already at the side exit with Julian slung over his shoulder. He looked at Malphas, ignoring the frozen Vane, and gave a sharp nod.
— The deal is done, Inquisitor — Vargas said, with vile satisfaction. — The bloodline is dead to the world. The boy now belongs to the arenas of Jasper.
Malphas stood up, brushing the ice from his shoulders. Vane remained motionless, a monument of ice beginning to crack with the heat of the distant flames. The Inquisitor looked at Kyo and Sálvia, both shattered and bleeding.
Inquisitor Malphas raised his white-light sword, which still smoked with the residual ice of Kyo's technique. He looked at the two fallen survivors—Kyo, drained and shaking, and Sálvia, a mass of blood and tatters—and felt the urge to deliver the final blow.
— The boy has been taken. My technical mission is over, but leaving you alive would be a mistake the Order does not usually make — Malphas hissed, approaching Kyo. — I'll ensure you join your masters before this ice melts.
However, before the blade fell, a thunderous sound of metal clashing against metal echoed through the cellar walls. It was not the sound of footsteps, but the sound of a war march coming from the Northern lands.
The Intervention of the Crimson Nation
— BY THE FIRE OF THE NORTH! NO ONE ESCAPES STEER'S MACE! — Baron Von Steer's thunderous voice roared, drowning out even the crackling of the fire.
A volley of heavy bolts, their tips glowing with a ruby heat, streaked through the cellar air. From the shadows emerged the soldiers of the Crimson Nation, the elite infantry of Ignis Velaris. They wore heavy plate armor, dyed a dark red, and carried tower shields that emanated hot steam.
Baron Von Steer appeared at the top of the stairs, a colossal figure in his volcanic iron armor. He did not belong to Lazuli; he was a warlord of the North, and the Order's presence in allied lands was an insult he would not ignore.
— Malphas! — the Baron bellowed, brandishing his mace which glowed red-hot. — You brought your shadows into my territory of influence. The Demon King may rule the skies, but down here, the fire of Crimson is what dictates the rules!
Strategic Retreat
Malphas growled, looking at the wall of red shields advancing implacably. He knew the Crimson soldiers were famous for their heat resistance and brute strength. In an enclosed space like the cellar, his Purifiers would be crushed by the pressure of Steer's men.
— Inquisitor! They outnumber us and the Crimson cavalry is surrounding the outer courtyard! — a soldier of the Order shouted.
— Take this useless statue out of here — Malphas ordered, pointing to the block of ice where Vane remained frozen and helpless. — Now! Retreat through the mining tunnels!
The remaining Purifiers used chains to drag Vane's block of ice, his eyes still overflowing with mute dread. Malphas glared at Kyo one last time as Von Steer's soldiers began to close the circle with their fire lances.
— The Wandering Throne has already marked you — Malphas said, retreating into the darkness of a secret passage. — Enjoy the time the Baron has given you. It will be short.
In a coordinated movement, the Order of Purification disappeared into the tunnels, detonating demolition charges to seal the path and prevent immediate pursuit.
Rescue in the Ruins
Baron Von Steer descended the steps, his heavy boot crushing marble shards. He looked at the trail of destruction: the bodies of the Purifiers killed by Sálvia and the corridor transformed into an ice mortuary by Kyo.
— Medics! Staunch that blood! — the Baron ordered, sheathing his smoking mace.
He approached Kyo, who was still trying to hold his saber with trembling fingers. Sálvia lay a few meters away, her breathing so weak it could barely be heard.
— Where is the Valerius boy? — Von Steer asked, his voice deep as a volcano.
— Vargas... — Kyo managed to mutter, blood trickling from his lips. — He took him... to the West... the arenas of Jasper.
The Baron looked at the destroyed ceiling, where the massive shadow of Aethelgard still obscured the stars. He knew that with the Demon King watching and the Order infiltrated everywhere, Vargas's flight was only the beginning of a bloody hunt.
— Get them out of here! — Steer ordered his men. — We'll take them to our camp. They are the only ones who faced Vane's poison and Malphas's blade and are still breathing.
As Kyo and Sálvia were pulled from the ruins, Vargas was already riding toward the setting sun of Jasper, taking Julian to the only place where money is worth more than life.
The Crimson Nation camp exhaled the smell of hot iron and coal, an environment reflecting the hardness of the Northern warriors. Inside the medical tent, the heat from the embers kept by the Crimson healers helped expel the residual cold still trying to settle in the bones of the survivors.
Sálvia's Awakening
Sálvia opened her only eye not covered by bandages. The movement was slow, but her instinct was sharp as a blade. Before even focusing her vision, her hand fumbled over the sheet and found the familiar hilt of her daggers. They were there, strategically placed beside her, gleaming under the flickering light of the torches.
She tried to take a deep breath, but the pain in her ribs reminded her that her body was still fragile. She was a wounded shadow, a hunter who had lost her prey. Looking at her own calloused hands, Sálvia felt the weight of the destroyed mansion's silence. She was no longer a steward; the daggers at her side were now her only identity and her only promise that Vargas would pay for every drop of blood spilled.
Kyo's Rebirth
Unlike Sálvia, Kyo was no longer trapped in feverish sleep. He was sitting on a wooden bench in the corner of the tent, shirtless, revealing the scars that the poison and the battle had left on his chest. His skin, previously blued by the cost of the forbidden technique, had regained its natural tone, though he was paler than usual.
He was cleaning his saber with a flannel soaked in special oil. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic. The Breath of the Ice Dragon technique had nearly destroyed him, but his willpower as a Master of Arms had forced an accelerated recovery. He still felt a tingling in his fingertips and his lungs burned with the slightest effort, but he could already stand and wield steel firmly.
Kyo looked at Sálvia when he realized she had awakened. There were no words of comfort. In their world, pain was an irrelevant detail in the face of duty.
— The flow of my energy is returning — Kyo said, his voice sounding hoarse but steady. — The ice has left my blood, Sálvia. But the hatred... that remains well-warmed.
The Traveled Destiny
Kyo sheathed his saber with a dry click that echoed through the tent. He stood up, testing his body weight on his legs. He was nearly recovered, a weapon ready to be fired again.
Sálvia, seeing the determination in Kyo's eyes, forced herself to sit up, ignoring the pang of pain in her dislocated shoulder. She took her daggers and stowed them with mechanical movements. They didn't need Baron Von Steer, nor Crimson's strategies. They knew where Vargas was going.
While the camp outside prepared for war between nations, inside that tent, two survivors sealed a silent pact. Julian was somewhere in the West, in the arenas of Jasper, and they would cross the world, if necessary, to tear him from the traitor's hands.
— Jasper is a desert of snakes — Kyo murmured, looking toward the tent exit. — We're going to need more than steel to get the boy out of there.
Sálvia only tightened her grip on her dagger, her icy gaze fixed on the invisible horizon. The hunt had begun.