Behind the towering Tree of Life, hidden from the burning skies above the castle, Aelar's battle raged on.
Both men were grounded, blades drawn, their faces just steps apart—glaring. Then—fshhh!—Aelar vanished. A blur of motion, he reappeared inches away from the enemy's face, his right foot raised high.
BAM!
A devastating kick landed against the black armor's stomach, launching the invader across the battlefield. His body crashed into the massive tree trunk, bark splintering with the impact.
Aelar landed, his wooden-handled sword gleaming in hand. His voice was low but firm.
"Time to end this."
He glanced back at the golden glow that had flickered across the sky moments ago. "Something happened at the castle… I need to go. I don't have the luxury to waste time."
The invader stood again, brushing off debris. Blood trickled down his lip, but his expression didn't waver—his brown eyes burned with wicked delight.
"If I were that easy to kill," he rasped, "you'd have done it already. I invaded your home, didn't I?"
"Tch…" Aelar clenched his teeth. "The bastard's right. That armor dampens my strikes... but that's not all. He's strong—even without it."
"You're a Swordmaster, aren't you?" Aelar said aloud, eyes narrowing. "I can see it. A small flame of aura flickering in your heart. It's weak, but it's there. I don't know why you haven't used it yet, but I can't help but wonder—why would someone who dedicated his life training and mastering the sword to attain strength… throw everything away to follow the Godless Abyss?"
The invader grunted. "It's none of your business. Everyone has their circumstances. I'm here to follow orders. Not talk. Fight until you die."
Aelar exhaled softly.
"So be it."
Fshh! He lunged again. Blades clashed. Steel rang out across the glade as their swords met in brutal arcs. Sparks danced in the air with each strike.
Suddenly, the invader ducked low, shifting his weight with perfect timing. His blade shot forward—aimed straight at Aelar's gut.
CLANG!
Aelar parried—but too late.
In a brilliant, fluid motion, the invader twisted the sword's angle and drove it through Aelar's right thigh.
SHNK.
Blood sprayed. Aelar winced, his breath caught in his throat. "Tch…"
The invader ripped the blade free.
"Time to end this," he said smugly, his sword now stained crimson.
But in the next instant—
SHK-KRCH!
"Guhk—!" the man spat blood as the blade lodged deep into his stomach.
"Did you forget so soon?" Aelar said coldly, his voice calm as steel. He raised his sword again. "If the wound's not fatal…"
His thigh, which had just been run through, was already glowing faint green—fully healed.
"I'll just keep healing."
The invader stared at the leg he'd injured—now flawless.
"I know you could heal mid-battle, but…" he muttered, shaken. "I didn't expect it to be so fast, even after such a wound!"
"So now you're complaining?" Aelar replied coldly. "Like I said—this ends now."
He raised his blade, eyes sharp with resolve. "I don't have the luxury of wasting more time."
"Tch…" the invader growled, blood still dripping from his stomach.
Meanwhile — Outside the Castle
Things weren't going as well for Eldrin.
His golden armor was cracked in several places. His left arm trembled—cut deep from Ginis' relentless dagger strikes. Blood seeped through the broken seams of his breastplate.
"Damn it..." he thought, tightening his grip on the spear. "She's fast. And she's adapting too quickly to my rhythm. My spear's too long to deal with that fast, assassin-like style…"
Ginis grinned, licking blood off her blade like it was honey. Her red and yellow eyes glowed with mockery.
"We planned for resistance. Didn't expect you elves to be this pathetic. I haven't even used a skill yet—and you're already falling apart."
But Eldrin smiled, nodding toward the shoulder wound he'd landed on her earlier. "It's funny, really."
"Why are you smiling?" Ginis said, irritated.
He glanced at her shoulder, where a deep wound bled freely. He had managed to strike her once with the edge of his armor during a desperate twist.
"That wound on your shoulder," he said, "is still bleeding, though. Your words aren't matching your actions and condition very well, to be honest, and I find that kind of funny."
Ginis laughed, flashing her teeth.
"That trick worked once. It won't again."
"I'm not so sure about that."
She stepped forward. "Come on, golden boy. I'll give your shoulder a matching cut since you mentioned it."
Eldrin steadied his stance. "She's right. That attack worked once because it caught her off guard. I won't get that chance again… No more tricks. No more playing around. I'm known for my spear technique for a reason…"
"One thrust. That's all I need."
As Ginis charged, Eldrin exhaled and gripped his spear tight, surrounding it with his mana. It glowed a faint light green in the air—silent, but deadly.
He braced himself.
"Let's end this."
Meanwhile — In the Castle Basement, the White Room
Icariel still lay unconscious. The light that once consumed him had vanished, but his body was still gently glowing from the transformation.
Elif knelt beside him, water in hand. "Mother, here," she whispered, offering it.
But Elena raised a hand, voice quiet and tense.
"Don't make a sound."
Elif froze. Her silver eyes widened.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Slow. Heavy. Growing closer.
They reached the iron door.
Elif gripped the cup tighter. Elena stepped back toward Icariel's body, heart racing. The white door was reinforced with elven steel—no vision could pierce it, not even elven eyes.
Then—a voice.
Calm. Familiar.
"It's me," the figure said from behind the door. "Adviser Valandor."
Elena's breath caught.
"Adviser…?" she echoed.
"Indeed, it's me," the voice said smoothly, almost too calm. "I feared you might still be below, so I came personally. The situation outside... is deteriorating rapidly. We must act now if we wish to live."
A pause.
"I can't see who is with you, Miss Elena. The enchanted door blocks even our enhanced vision."
"I'm with my daughter, Elif," Elena replied. "And… a human boy named Icariel. Aelar's disciple. He brought us here for safety until he returned. But… something happened."
Her voice lowered. "A strange golden light engulfed him, and then he collapsed. He's been unconscious ever since."
"Golden light?" Valandor repeated. "That's… concerning."
"He doesn't have any injuries, so healing magic is useless. But something is clearly wrong," Elena added.
Valandor's tone grew urgent. "The situation is terrible out here too. Monsters were summoned by the enemy and have already infiltrated the inner walls. They're clashing with the royal guards—losses are heavy. That's why I came. This place won't remain hidden much longer. We need to leave."
"I understand," Elena said. "Thank you, Adviser."
"Open the door," he said firmly. "Let me check the boy myself. I'll carry him. We'll move together to a safe location."
Elena moved toward the door, her hand reaching for the handle.
"Hurry, Miss Elena. There's no time."
"Right," she replied. Her fingers brushed the handle.
Suddenly—a hand caught her wrist.
She turned sharply.
"Icariel…?" she whispered.
The boy stood on his feet, awake. His body had changed—taller, leaner, stronger. His black hair shimmered under the dim light, but it was his eyes that struck them both: sharp, intense, and strangely calm. There was a new depth to them. Something that hadn't been there before. The light of awakening had sculpted him anew.
"You're awake!" Elif gasped.
"I'm glad you're okay," Elena said, relief in her voice. "Now let go of my hand—the adviser is here to help us. We need to move."
"And who decided that?" Icariel asked flatly.
Both Elif and Elena froze.
Elif blinked. "What did he just say…?"
"What are you doing, Icariel? We don't have time for this!" Elena snapped, turning back toward the door. "Open it—now!"
But Icariel didn't move. He stood still, firm as a statue.
"Leave this to me," he muttered.
Elena hesitated. "His voice… it's different."
Elif stared at him. "His presence… it's different. His body changed too. Was it because of that light? What did he do…?"
Then, for the first time, Icariel's voice carried something deep.
"So… Adviser Valandor, is it?"
From the other side of the door, the calm voice replied, "Ah, the disciple's awake. That's good. Open the door—time is short. I explained the situation to Elena."
"I see. Thank you for the warning," Icariel replied. "But… there's one question bothering me since I woke up."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Why did you come here personally to retrieve us?"
"You're an adviser. A strategist. Your duty is to coordinate, direct—help the tribe manage the crisis. But instead, you abandoned all that to come down here yourself? I don't think we're way more important than countless elves outside."
"Icariel!" Elena scolded, shocked. "Where are your manners?! That's Adviser Valandor—Aelar's trusted friend and our princess adviser! What are you implying here?"
"Elena," Icariel said sharply, gaze fixed on the door. "Teacher Aelar told you to trust my instincts. If you can't believe me, then believe your husband."
Elena fell silent. Slowly, she lowered her eyes and gave a small nod.
From beyond the door, Valandor chuckled. "It's fine, Miss Elena. He's just being cautious. Honestly, I understand. These are dangerous times."
"Like I said, the castle's been overwhelmed—monsters flooding in from all sides. And that golden light—yours, I presume, though I didn't see it myself—drew far too much attention. Maybe that's what triggered the surge toward the gates. Princess Virethiel herself sent me. Said she could only trust those who've stood beside her through the years."
"That makes sense," Icariel said with a smile.
Elif narrowed her eyes. "Something's off. He's smiling… but it feels like a trap is about to be sprung."
Elena exhaled. "See, Icariel? He's telling the truth. He's here to help. And besides, if he were lying, we'd sense it—our traits allow us to detect falsehood."
She stepped forward again. "I'm embarrassed to have doubted someone so loyal. Adviser Valandor, please forgive us."
A warm laugh echoed from the other side. "No worries. The situation's tense. I'd rather have caution than carelessness."
Elena reached again for the door—
—but Icariel caught her wrist once more.
He didn't speak right away.
He looked straight at the door. His eyes gleamed, sharper than ever before.
"Sorry for doubting you," he said loudly through the door, his voice calm again. "I feel ashamed… to question my teacher's friend."
Adviser Valandor spoke from the other side. "I already said it—no worries. Now, open the door. There's no more time—"
Icariel cut him off.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "But there's just one more thing bothering me."
A pause.
"Why are there four monsters standing beside you… ready to tear someone apart?"