The emerald fire from the Divine Reaper's scythe cast long, flickering shadows across the Great Plaza. The heat was not physical; it was a spiritual burn that made the lower-level disciples of the Sterling and Hawthorne clans collapse to their knees, their souls trembling under the weight of a King-tier Battle Spirit.
Blake stood at the center of the storm, the matte-black handle of Silence held loosely in his right hand. His gaze was not fixed on the cowering guards or the furious Silas, but on the path ahead.
"Kill him!" Silas screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "Elders, don't just stand there! He is one boy! Wipe this stain from our history!"
Four Sterling Elders, all masters of the 7th and 8th layers of Flesh and Organ Tempering, stepped forward. They moved in a synchronized diamond formation, their blades humming with the Sterling Gale energy. Unlike the common guards, these were the men who had overseen Blake's "extractions." They didn't just want him dead; they wanted to reclaim the energy he had "stolen."
"Blake Harrison, for the crime of demonic cultivation and the murder of city officials, your life is forfeit!" Elder Marcus roared, lunging forward with a thrust aimed at Blake's heart.
Blake's eyes narrowed. He didn't move his scythe. As Marcus's blade reached him, Blake shifted his weight—a movement so subtle it was almost invisible. He caught the flat of the Elder's blade between two fingers, the 4th-layer Steel-Skin sparking against the refined metal.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, Blake redirected the force. He didn't strike to kill. Instead, he delivered a precision palm strike to Marcus's shoulder, using a burst of Void-Blood energy to temporarily sever the connection to the Elder's meridians.
Marcus let out a grunt of pain as his arm went limp, his sword clattering to the marble. He was sent sprawling back into the other Elders, breaking their formation.
"I told you once, Silas," Blake said, his voice cutting through the wind. "I am not here to destroy the Sterling bloodline. My father served this house until his final breath. I will not spill the blood of those who share his name—unless they force my hand."
He looked at the guards who were now encircling him, men from the City Lord's office and mercenaries hired by the Hawthornes. They were not Sterlings. They were the ones who had mocked his father in the dungeons and laughed as the needles went in.
"But the rest of you?" Blake's emerald eyes flared with a predatory light. "You chose to be the butcher's dogs. And dogs must be put down."
A group of ten Hawthorne enforcers, seeing Marcus fall, charged with a collective roar. They were 6th-layer warriors, their bodies armored in heavy bronze.
Blake finally swung Silence.
It wasn't a wide, clumsy arc. It was a surgical strike. The emerald-tipped blade of the scythe flickered through the air like a phantom. One moment the enforcers were charging; the next, they were frozen.
A thin, glowing green line appeared across each of their chests. They didn't bleed—not at first. The Reaper's scythe had sliced through their internal energy pathways. Then, the force of the physical blow caught up. All ten men were launched backward as if hit by a battering ram, their armor shattering into shards.
[Vital Essence detected. Devouring... Strength +1.2. Soul Power +3.]
Blake felt the power of the defeated men flowing into him, feeding the Voidheart Pearl. He was a living paradox—a man of mercy for his family, and a god of death for his enemies.
Jazmin Sterling watched the carnage, her blue flames flickering. She saw Blake intentionally sparing the Sterling disciples, knocking them aside with the blunt end of his scythe while systematically dismantling the Hawthorne and City forces.
"You think you're being noble?" Jazmin's voice rang out, sharp and cold. "By sparing us, you're just insulting us! We are the Sterling Clan! We don't need your pity!"
She unleashed her Fire-fairy, a wave of blue heat that turned the falling snow into scalding steam. The flames took the shape of a phoenix, its beak opening to consume Blake.
Blake looked at the fire—the same fire he had once admired. He raised Silence and made a simple cutting motion. The emerald energy of the Reaper met the blue flames of the Fairy.
The phoenix didn't explode; it was simply snuffed out. The Reaper's "End" attribute was absolute.
"The fire you serve is a candle, Jazmin," Blake said, walking through the steam. "I have seen the suns of the Spirit Gate. I have stood in the shadow of the Void. Your purification didn't make you stronger; it just made you empty."
He reached her in three steps. The guards tried to intervene, but a single pulse of Blake's 4th-layer aura sent them flying like leaves in a gale.
Blake stood before Jazmin. He didn't raise his weapon. He simply looked into her vacant eyes. "Go back inside the manor, Jazmin. Take your grandfather and the Elders. This wedding is over. The Hawthornes cannot protect you from what I've become."
Garrett Hawthorne, struggling to stand amongst the wreckage of the stairs, spat a glob of blood. "You... you think you've won? The City Lord... he's already summoned the Iron Guard! Three thousand men are coming for you!"
"Then I'll have three thousand reasons to keep swinging," Blake replied.
He turned his back on the Sterlings, facing the city gates where the sound of marching boots was growing louder. He wasn't afraid. Like the ancient war gods of the Sky era, he felt a strange, serene clarity.
He gripped the scythe, the Divine Reaper coiling around him like a protective shroud.
"Silas!" Blake called out over his shoulder. "Keep your family behind the gates. If a single Sterling steps into the plaza during the next hour, I cannot guarantee their safety from the harvest."
He walked toward the edge of the plaza, a lone figure standing against the approaching army of the city. He was the Reaper, the boy who had died and returned with the power to end an era.
The first rank of the Iron Guard appeared at the end of the street, their shields a wall of polished steel.
Blake smiled, a dark, terrifying expression. "Let the harvest begin."