CHAPTER 46
[Near the palace battlefield]
Near the shattered outskirts of the palace, a man stood like an unmoving pillar.
Albert positioned himself in front of a younger boy, shielding him completely.
Whose eyes were closed, breath slow but heavy, chest rising and falling as dust and embers drifted through the air.
His legs were locked into the broken stone beneath him, muscles screaming in protest, while his right hand gripped the hilt of his katana so tightly his knuckles had gone pale as he struggled to channel haki to every fiber of his limbs.
The wind shifted.
"SILENT STEP."
The words barely left his lips before his presence vanished.
The air screamed where he once stood, a sharp howl cutting through the battlefield.
"Huh?" one of the brothers gasped, eyes widening as they failed to track Digil's movement.
"Where did he—?"
"Look!" the other shouted, pointing upward.
Both men tilted their heads back.
High above them, a figure hovered against the pale sky.
[Digil's POV]
Closing my eyes again, I shut everything out.
The screams.
The collapsing stone.
The fear.
I isolated every emotion, pushing them down until only focus remained.
Concentrate…
I felt the familiar warmth of Haki respond, flowing from my core into my arms, legs—every trembling muscle fiber.
Let it move naturally.
The sensation was strange, like stepping onto something that didn't exist.
A shadow formed beneath my feet.
"Silent… step," I muttered, the name slipping out instinctively.
When I opened my eyes, the ground was far below me.
I was in the sky.
My heart skipped, breath hitching for a split second before I forced myself to calm down. The shadow beneath my feet pulsed faintly, unstable but real.
Next step…
I remembered the movements of the government agents—the way they chained their techniques together seamlessly.
I leaned forward.
The muscles responded.
My body blurred as I stepped again, then again, rapidly descending toward the two brothers below. Their mouths hung open, disbelief written plainly across their faces.
"How did he learn our technique?" muttered the average-height brother, voice tight.
"Is that… Geppo?" the other replied, unease creeping into his tone.
I didn't answer.
Instead, I pushed harder.
The wind roared past my ears as gravity reclaimed me.
My stomach twisted from the speed, legs burning as the steps strained to keep up.
Then—
"BOOOOM!"
A cannonball screamed toward me, tearing through the air with murderous intent.
"Heheheh," the biggest of the brothers laughed, lips curling into a cruel grin.
"He's dead for sure if he clashes with that at this altitude."
No.
"Slash."
The cannonball split cleanly in two.
Metal shrieked as the halves spiraled away harmlessly.
Albert appeared midair, calm and composed, blade already sliding back into its sheath. His eyes flicked toward me for just a second.
I nodded.
Flipping my grip, I pulled my katana into an inverted hold. My arms trembled violently, but I welcomed the pain—it meant I was still moving.
Using the acceleration, I twisted my body.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
I spun faster and faster, shadow and steel aligning as I transformed into a living projectile.
Like a bullet.
"BOOOOOOM!"
The earth collapsed inward as I struck.
Stone folded, dust exploded outward, and the shockwave rippled across the courtyard.
Blood sprayed behind me in twin arcs.
The two brothers crumpled to the ground, bodies skidding uselessly across broken debris before going still.
My knees buckled as I landed, katana biting into the ground to keep me upright. My legs shook uncontrollably, muscles screaming as if they were about to tear apart.
The chief warden stared, mouth agape, eyes filled with awe.
"Prince Digil… that move—was it created by you?"
I forced a wry smile, sweat dripping down my temple. "Yeah… kind of," I said, breath uneven.
"But it's extremely taxing."
As if to prove the point, my legs nearly gave out.
"Let me help."
A firm arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me up as I stumbled forward toward the palace interior, where chaos still reigned.
Arriving at the palace center, the scene was devastating.
Collapsed pillars.
Burning debris.
Groans of civilians and loyal former king's guards echoed through the rubble.
Government agents lay sprawled across the ground, some unconscious, others unmoving.
"Oh—Digil!"
A soft voice broke through the noise.
The queen rushed toward him, hands immediately checking his arms, shoulders, legs—every inch of him as if he might shatter.
"Isn't it painful? You're shaking," she scolded, eyes glossy. "I should call old man Dylan. Get a medic—now!"
Before Digil could protest, healers were already moving.
The king stepped forward.
He didn't speak at first.
Instead, he met Digil's eyes and gave a single nod—one that carried pride, concern, and unspoken gratitude.
Then the king turned away and climbed onto a broken platform overlooking the ruined palace.
"People of Kexzaz," he began, voice heavy, "with all the pain and grief in my heart, I apologize for my failure as your king."
He knelt.
Forehead pressed to the shattered stone.
A stunned silence followed.
"It's not your fault!" someone cried.
"Stand up, my king!"
"You suffered with us!"
Voices echoed across the palace grounds, grief and loyalty intertwining.
The king raised his head.
"Even if I have failed," he continued, voice resolute, "I will not allow this battle—fought with the help of strangers—to be cut short."
Memories flashed across the man's mind: citizens beaten by guards, taxes extorted, lives taken in broad daylight.
"We march forward," he declared, standing tall.
"With our future, dreams, and hope on our shoulders. Even if it costs us our lives, we will ensure the next generation never suffers as we did."
A whisper escaped his lips.
"It all ends now."
The people erupted.
Grabbing rifles, clubs, shovels, sickles—anything they could find—they surged toward the port.
With tears in their eyes, the royal family watched as their people ran past them, charging toward a future that might very well cost them everything.
But for the first time—
They ran with hope.