The child's sobbing suddenly warped into a distorted laugh. Her figure shimmered, skin peeling like paper, until what remained was a tall figure in a black robe, a mask of shadow hiding his face. He stretched out a hand, his voice low and jagged like broken glass.
"Found you…"
His finger pointed straight at Kael.
Kael flinched, instinctively tightening his grip on the sword at his side. The crimson gleam of his eyes flickered beneath his hood.
From the treeline, more shadows poured out. Dozens, cloaked in black, their presence thick with malice. The soldiers' formation faltered as the cultists surrounded them in a perfect circle.
Reinhardt's expression hardened. He leapt down from his horse, hand raised to summon his spear—yet nothing appeared. His eyes narrowed. He tried again, pushing mana into the air, but it was as though it was swallowed by an unseen force.
"They're blocking our magic," Reinhardt growled.
Elric reached for her bow, but her hand met only empty air. "Our magic… it's sealed!" she hissed, cursing under her breath. She bent down quickly, pulling a dagger hidden in her boot, blade glinting faintly in the dying light.
One of the soldiers tossed a longsword to Reinhardt. He caught it and rolled the hilt in his palm, adjusting his stance. "Then we fight the old way."
The first cultist lunged, blade flashing. Reinhardt parried with a shower of sparks, shoving the man back with sheer force. The clash of steel echoed, followed by another, and another.
More cultists surged forward, blades and daggers glinting. Their movements were wild, but coordinated enough to press in. And yet, Reinhardt noticed something—they weren't trying to kill him or Elric. Their eyes, feverish and filled with fanaticism, were all fixed on one person.
"Kael," Reinhardt muttered under his breath. Then, louder: "Stay behind us! Protect yourself—we'll hold them!"
Kael's hand twitched on his sword. His lips parted as though to protest, but Reinhardt's fierce glare silenced him.
Before another word could be spoken, a small, round object whistled through the air.
"Bomb!" Elric cried.
The cultist's hand flicked, releasing the black orb straight into their formation. Reinhardt's instincts roared—he seized Kael's wrist and yanked him to his side, shoving him back as the orb clattered against the ground.
BOOM!
A deafening crack thundered through the air as thick smoke erupted outward, choking, blinding, filling every gap. Coughs and cries rang from the soldiers, their vision swallowed whole.
"Move!" Reinhardt barked, dragging Kael with him through the smoke. They stumbled forward, taking advantage of the sudden cover.
Elric coughed behind them, her dagger clenched tight as she pushed through the haze. She spotted them just ahead and forced her legs to move faster, keeping pace as they broke into the treeline.
But the shadows were quick. A group of cultists gave chase, their feet silent, their presence suffocating.
An arrow whistled through the smoke.
Elric's breath hitched—then pain exploded in her leg. She stumbled, collapsing against the ground, dirt grinding into her cheek.
Kael's eyes went wide. He skidded to a stop, spinning back. His hood slipped as he ran toward her, reaching out.
"No! Get away from here!" Elric snapped, her voice sharp with pain. She gritted her teeth and snapped the arrow shaft, tearing the edge off so she could move. Blood seeped down her calf, but she forced herself up. "They're targeting you, Kael—don't stop!"
Her words only made his eyes waver harder. But before Kael could resist, Reinhardt's hand clamped tightly around his wrist.
"Come on!" Reinhardt's voice thundered, leaving no room for argument. He pulled Kael away, forcing him to turn.
Kael's gaze lingered on Elric, but his steps fell into Reinhardt's rhythm. Together, they ran deeper into the forest.
Elric exhaled shakily as she turned back to the shadows spilling toward her. She flexed her grip on her dagger, ignoring the pain in her leg.
Five cultists broke from the trees, their blades gleaming faintly in the gloom.
Elric smiled bitterly. "Five of you, huh? Good. I need the warm-up."
They charged.
The first swung high. Elric ducked, her dagger flashing upward, slicing clean across his throat. Blood sprayed, and his body crumpled before he hit the ground.
The second came at her left. She pivoted, catching his wrist with her free hand, twisting sharply until bone cracked. His scream was cut short as she buried her dagger in his ribs.
Two more rushed her together. She blocked one strike with her forearm, teeth gritted against the burn, and spun her dagger backward, slashing across the other's chest. The fourth cultist's blade grazed her shoulder, but she drove her knee into his gut, knocking him breathless before finishing him with a slash across the neck.
Breathing heavy, she whirled back—only to see the fifth cultist hadn't attacked her at all.
He slipped past. His body low, quick as a shadow, sprinting straight after Reinhardt and Kael.
Elric's eyes widened. "No—!"
She threw her dagger, but the cultist had already vanished into the trees.
Her heart dropped. She forced herself up, leg screaming in protest, but she knew—
One had gotten through.
-----------------------------------------
Reinhardt and Kael pushed forward, their boots striking against the dirt road, the sounds of distant chaos still echoing from the city. Reinhardt's grip tightened around Kael's wrist, half dragging him, half guiding him.
"Don't stop, Kael! We can't stop now!" Reinhardt barked, his tone sharp, though the urgency in his voice carried the weight of desperation.
Kael stumbled, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He had just woken from two weeks of coma, forced into battle against an undead dragon, and now hunted by a relentless cult. His lungs screamed, his legs heavy as lead. He lifted his gaze upward—the sun should have been high, but the thick smoke billowing from the city swallowed its light, painting the world in shadow.
Reinhardt glanced back. His heart sank. Kael's steps faltered, his pale face drenched in sweat. He wasn't just tired—he was collapsing.
And then Reinhardt saw them. Dark figures sliding out from the edges of the forest, their black robes shifting like living shadows. They were surrounded again.
One of the cultists stepped forward, his voice twisted with malice.
"Hand over the sword. Hand over Hero Kael." His finger pointed directly at Kael like a curse.
Reinhardt's emerald eyes narrowed. He raised the blade given to him earlier, the steel flashing in the dim light. His voice dropped into arrogance, masking the calculation in his mind.
"He belongs to me. Why should I give him to filth like you?"
He knew Kael understood—the arrogance was a mask, a trick to stall for time, to find a gap in their encirclement.
Kael's trembling hand lifted his own blade. Though his body screamed for rest, he mirrored Reinhardt, preparing to strike.
The clash came instantly. Shadows lunged from all sides, blades slashing, steel ringing. Reinhardt met the first attacker head-on, his sword cleaving through a cultist's defense and cutting him down with ruthless precision. Another came from behind—Reinhardt spun, parried, and sent his opponent sprawling, his foot crushing the man's throat.
Kael swung his sword at another cultist. His strikes lacked strength, but they carried sharp precision. Sparks flew as their blades met, and Kael forced the man back. For a moment, it seemed manageable. But Kael's chest heaved; his movements slowed.
He lifted his sword again—and suddenly, his vision swam. The edges of the world blurred, darkening as exhaustion consumed him. His blade slipped from his grasp, clattering against the earth.
Reinhardt, just a few paces away, froze in disbelief.
"Kael!"
Then he saw it—one of the cultists breaking from the fray, a wicked black dagger in hand, sprinting straight toward Kael's undefended form.
Reinhardt's blood ran cold.
"No!!"
Kael, too drained, didn't notice. The cultist closed the distance in a heartbeat and drove the dagger into Kael's chest. The blade slid deep, the black curse etched on it glowing faintly. Kael's eyes widened, he gasp. His breath hitching as pain seared through him. His knees buckled, but the cultist only grinned, savoring his victim's agony.
"Perfect," the man hissed. "The hero bleeds—"
Reinhardt roared, fury blazing in his emerald eyes. He launched forward, his sword striking with the force of vengeance itself. He cut down one cultist, then another, his movements a blur of brutality. Eight remained, but Reinhardt was merciless. He fought like a storm—parrying, slicing, kicking one into a tree before impaling another. Blood sprayed across the forest floor as his blade danced with lethal precision.
The cultist holding Kael sneered, tightening his grip on the dagger still buried in Kael's chest. Kael trembled, one hand weakly trying to push him away, blood seeping from his lips as he tried to endure the pain.
Reinhardt's rage reached its peak. With one final strike, he cleaved the last of the cultists aside and lunged at the one clutching Kael. The man barely had time to react before Reinhardt's sword tore through him, silencing his twisted grin forever.
The cultist's body collapsed, and Kael, freed from his grasp, swayed on weakening legs. Reinhardt dropped his weapon and caught him before he fell, his arms wrapping tightly around Kael's fragile frame.
Blood seeped from the wound, dark and unrelenting, spilling from the dagger lodged deep within Kael's chest. The blade remained buried, unmoving—only the hilt protruded grotesquely from his body.
Reinhardt's breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled violently as he pulled Kael against him, horror flashing across his face when his eyes traced the dagger's position. It was angled over Kael's heart. So close—too close. A fraction deeper, and it might have pierced through entirely.
"No… no, no…" Reinhardt's voice cracked, panic tearing at the edges of his composure. His hands hovered uselessly, afraid that even the smallest movement might worsen the injury.
"K-Kael, don't worry, we—we can—" His words died in his throat.
The dagger trembled on its own, the hilt quivering as if driven deeper by invisible hands. Kael's body jolted violently, a weak groan escaping his lips as the steel sank further into his chest. Then, before Reinhardt's horrified eyes, the blade began to dissolve into a thick, dark mist.
"No! Stop—!"
The moment the dagger vanished completely, blood erupted from the wound, pouring faster than before. Kael coughed harshly, crimson spilling down his chin as his hand instinctively clutched at his chest. His pale face twisted in agony, every breath sounding ragged, every sound filled with pain.
Reinhardt's panic broke into desperation. He pressed his palm against the wound, trying to slow the flow. "No, no, no… stay with me! Stay awake!" He began to chant, voice cracking—but the spell failed. The mana blockade still lingered, choking every incantation into useless whispers.
"Damn it!" he cursed, voice raw.
His hands shook as he shifted Kael onto his lap, cradling him as if shielding him from the world itself. With trembling urgency, Reinhardt tore open his own robe, pressing the thick fabric against the wound. Blood still welled up, soaking through the cloth and pooling beneath them.
Kael's breaths grew shallower, each one more fragile than the last. His vision blurred, his eyelids heavy, his body cold in Reinhardt's arms.
"No… Kael! Please endure it! You have to stay strong!" Reinhardt's words were nearly a sob, his voice trembling, tears clouding his emerald eyes.
And then—Kael's hand moved. Slowly, shakily, his bloodied fingers brushed against Reinhardt's cheek. The touch made Reinhardt flinch, his whole body trembling as he leaned closer.
"...Don't… cry…" Kael's voice was frail, almost lost to the air, as his trembling fingers wiped at the tears streaming down Reinhardt's face. "...Don't cry… for me… I'll be… fine."
Blood splattered from his lips with another violent cough, his chest heaving, pain twisting his features.
Reinhardt gripped his hand, holding it desperately. "No! Don't talk! Don't waste your strength—just stay awake, please!" His voice broke.
But Kael's strength faltered. Reinhardt felt it—the tremor in Kael's hand fading, the pulse under his fingertips weakening. He caught Kael's wrist, clutching it to his chest, unwilling to let him slip away.
"You'll be fine, I'll make you fine! I swear!" Reinhardt's voice cracked into near incoherence. He could feel it—Kael's pulse was fading fast.
Kael's lips parted weakly, his eyes half-lidded, his voice a whisper.
"I'm sorry… I just… want to rest… a bit…"
Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut.
"No! Kael!" Reinhardt shook him, panic exploding in his chest. "Don't close your eyes! Wake up! Please, wake up!" His cry was desperate, his hands trembling as he shook Kael's shoulders. "Kael!"
But Kael didn't stir. His body went limp, his chest slowing until finally—it stopped. His pulse disappeared under Reinhardt's fingers.
Reinhardt froze, horror flooding him. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. "No… Kael? No, no, no!" He pressed harder against Kael's wrist, praying for even the faintest flicker of life. But there was nothing.
"Kael!!" Reinhardt's scream tore through the forest, raw and broken. He pulled Kael's limp body into his arms, holding him tightly, desperately, as if his embrace alone could tether him back to life. His tears spilled freely, falling onto Kael's pale face, streaked with blood.
When Elric arrived, dagger in hand, her eyes immediately swept across the corpses strewn across the clearing. But her steps faltered when she saw Reinhardt on the ground, clutching Kael in his arms.
The sight struck her silent. Blood pooled beneath them. Kael's eyes were closed, his lips stained red, his body utterly unresponsive despite Reinhardt's desperate calls.
Reinhardt rocked him gently, whispering broken pleas. "Don't leave me… don't you dare leave me…"
Elric's heart sank as her dagger slipped from her hand, the metallic clang echoing in the silence. Her throat tightened. She didn't need words—she knew what she was seeing.
The Hero lay limp in Reinhardt's arms.