The roaring inferno cackled, devouring the rotting timber of Warehouse 564 as thick, black smoke billowed toward the shattered roof, mixing with the cold ocean drizzle. Flames cast long, erratic shadows across the blood-soaked floorboards.
Leornars leaned heavily against Stacian, his ragged breathing hitching as the sheer thermal trauma of the solar flare began to set in. Blistered, charred skin cracked across his cheek and neck, but beneath the matted dark locks, his heterochromatic eyes still held that terrifying, unyielding ember.
Stacian's hands glowed with an ethereal, emerald light as her Dryiand high-tier healing magic washed over him, knitting burnt flesh and soothing torn muscle fibers.
"You always pick the most absurdly violent ways to clear your head, my Lord," Stacian murmured softly, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and deep, quiet awe. She adjusted her grip, supporting his weight as the last of the Black Acer captain's severed form dissolved into ash in the surrounding flames.
A few yards away, Zaryter coughed up a mixture of soot and blood, leaning against a support beam as his closed wounds fully sealed. He stared at the charred remains of his former master, then looked up at Leornars with wide, trembling eyes.
"He... he had a B-rank threat rating..." Zaryter rasped, his voice raw. "He slaughtered dozens of elite knights in the southern territories... and you just torn through his solar talisman like it was nothing..."
"Rankings are calculated by bureaucrats who sit behind desks," Leornars said, his voice clipped and raspy as his throat healed. He pushed himself upright, standing on his own two feet once more as the dark mist settled back into his shadow. "They measure physical output. They don't measure pure, unadulterated hatred."
Bellian stepped out from the smoke, sheathing his longsword with a sharp *clink*. "The perimeter is clear, Lord Leornars. The remaining lackeys who fled into the harbor district have been eliminated by the shadow soldiers. No survivors."
"Good," Leornars replied, taking a slow, deep breath to steady his pulse.
He glanced over at the trembling, rescued civilians whom Stacian had shielded from the blast. They cowered in the corner, clutching one another in absolute terror, unable to process whether the young man standing amidst the blood and fire was a savior or an even worse monster than the gang that had caged them.
Leornars didn't give them a second glance.
"Stacian. Zaryter," Leornars commanded, turning his back on the burning warehouse and walking toward the shattered doorway into the cool night air. "Clean yourselves up. Change into formal attire."
Stacian wiped a trace of ash from her cheek, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "And what of the banquet, my Lord?"
Leornars paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw, his crimson eye flaring with cold, calculated brilliance.
"The King is waiting to give us our land deed," Leornars said, a dark smirk curling his lips. "And it would be terribly rude to keep the royal court waiting for their main course."