The battlefield held its breath.
Time warped, thinned.
Icariel stood like a monument forged from shadow—black eyes unblinking—as the monster that nearly crushed Eldrin now clawed at the dirt beneath his fists.
Not far away, Eldrin whispered, blood clogging his throat. "For real...?" A crooked grin cracked across his bruised face, teeth glinting red.
Floon, crouched behind the shattered ribcage of a collapsed archway, scanned the battlefield. His gaze snagged on the bald girl—Grinis—cornered like a beast that had lost its fangs.
Blood painted the stone like calligraphy scrawled in panic.
"Damn," Floon muttered. "If that kid makes it out alive… we might just have a ghost of a chance. And if he fights like that again… maybe this battle's not lost yet."
Grinis bared her teeth, a snarl twisting her face into something feral and unrepentant.
"Surrender? Me?" she spat blood, thick and black-red. "So I can rot in some dungeon and beg for death while you all pretend justice was served? Never."
Icariel glanced skyward, just for a moment. "I was curious… about life beyond the mountains…"
Then he shook his head. "Ah. Never mind."
He exhaled, a slow, deliberate breath. "Guess you don't leave me much choice."
BAM!
The ground split beneath him. Dirt exploded behind as he launched forward—faster than a heartbeat. Faster than fear.
In a blink, he was there again.
She slashed, claws tracing arcs of murder.
He ducked, weaved, closed in. A fist like falling stone hammered toward her ribs. She blocked with her forearm—only to catch an elbow crashing into her face, sharp and precise.
She reeled.
But he didn't stop.
His body moved like memory—fluid, instinctive, lethal. Every muscle a blade. Every breath a rhythm of destruction. Since awakening… speed, strength, perception—all had sharpened into something unnatural.
"You… shouldn't be this strong… not even after I used Dered How," Grinis gasped, staggering. "What are you? What are you made of?!"
CRACK!
A rib snapped under his next punch. She flew back, tumbling like a broken doll. Blood arced into the air like a dying comet.
She hit the ground hard—stone crumbling beneath her weight.
Before she could breathe, he was already on her.
BAM!A spinning kick tore through her ribs. She shot across the square, her scream torn away by the wind.
Icariel dropped to one knee, his palm skidding against broken cobblestone, fingers tracing its bite.
"Everything I've learned… I can apply it instantly. This body—it's like the perfect vessel," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Despite everything, Grinis stood again.
Barely.
Her arms trembled. Her skin was shredded leather. Blood soaked her clothes. Bones jutted beneath her skin like broken scaffolding.
But she rose.
And charged again.
Her scream was a storm of desperation, claws flashing in a whirlwind of death. But Icariel was the eye of that storm—still, and impossibly fast.
Fist met claw. Leg swept hers from beneath. She struck his side—he took it and twisted her wrist until the scream burst from her throat.
A knee to her gut. A slam—her face grinding into dirt and gravel. He let her go. Let her crawl. Let her try.
"Surrender," he said, raising two fingers toward her chest. "I told you… I don't want to kill anyone right now."
She coughed violently, blood spraying her teeth. And she smiled.
"You've got all this strength… and still don't have the guts to kill?"
His gaze darkened. His voice dropped—quiet and final, like a blade unsheathing in the dark.
"It's not that I'm stronger than you," he said. "It's that you haven't realized yet—your boost ended the moment you used those mana daggers. Since then, you've been burning through nothing."
Her eyes widened. Panic flickered.
She looked down at her hands—trembling, colorless. No glow. No pressure. Just hollowed fatigue.
"No… I would've felt that—I would've known—"
"You didn't," Icariel cut in, eyes like black glass. "Because you were too busy being angry you couldn't kill me. So I'll ask you again—surrender."
Her mind scrambled. "The Dered... it saved me from that shattered body—I must've drained most of its power just surviving. And then… I used four skills. Back-to-back. I was already close to collapse. No matter how high its quality, it was bound to burn out…"
"That's why his hits feel so heavy. Why he can track me—when that golden-armored elf couldn't even touch me."
"I'm empty. A shell."
Her laugh cracked like splitting bone.
Then her voice rose—shaking with something more than rage.
Something old. Bitter. Buried.
"Then my answer is the same, you damn brat! You humiliated me! Your strength—at your age—it mocks everything I've bled for! Every inch of power I tore from fate with my nails! So screw your pity! Come and finish it! Kill me—and carry the weight like the rest of us!"
His flame sparked to life.
"Spear of Flame."
Fire coalesced into a spear in his palm, a column of searing heat that made the air bend and scream.
"You're making this harder than it has to be," Icariel said, stepping forward. His voice was stripped of emotion—resolve sharpened into cruelty.
One step.
Then another.
SHLK.
Blood sprayed.
A hand burst through Grinis's back—straight through her heart.
Icariel froze.
"...What?"
Grinis's body spasmed.
The hand withdrew, dripping blood from delicate, deadly fingers.
"Princess Virethiel?" Icariel breathed, stunned.
Grinis's wild eyes calmed—her pupils reformed, only to fade. A strange peace softened her mouth.
"Guess… a failure… until the end…" she whispered.
Then she fell.
Behind her, Princess Virethiel lowered her hand. Her stealth cloak melted into mist.
Across the battlefield, everything shifted.
The strange 'U'-shaped symbols branded onto the Yetis' skin flickered—then vanished.
A soldier cried out, shield raised. "Her skill! It's gone! I blocked that hit—it didn't even crack the shield!"
Floon stood tall. "Their power-up is undone! They're weaker now—forward! All units!"
"AAAHHHH!"
A chorus of elven voices roared across the square.
The Yetis roared back—but this time, they stumbled.
And still, Icariel didn't move. He stared at Virethiel, his hands slack at his sides.
"Since you were taking your sweet time finishing her," she said, tone casual, "I decided to do it myself. Problem with that, kid?"
His jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for your help."
"If you're so capable," he growled, "then why didn't you step in from the start? Why leave me to fight her alone?"
The princess laughed, soft and sharp.
"Oh, what a difference a few weeks make. The coward found his voice?"
She knelt beside Grinis, brushing a hand along her blood-caked cheek.
"Healing Spell."
A green glow pulsed. The gaping wound began to close.
"You… healed her?" Icariel said, his voice thinned by disbelief.
"I never planned to kill her," Virethiel said. "Just shut her down long enough to stop the madness. She's paralyzed from the shock."
"Then… why?"
"To keep one intelligent creature alive," she said simply. "We need information. Their true plans. And most of all… how they turned Adviser Valandoa."
Her gaze flicked to Icariel.
"The one you killed—by crushing his heart with your bare hands."
Silence.
Icariel didn't flinch.
But in Virethiel's mind, a conversation echoed:
"Highness," Elena had said, her voice quiet but urgent, "there's something you need to know about Icariel."
Virethiel had glanced sideways. "I'm listening."
Not far from them at the time, Icariel had been locked in battle with Grinis—bloody and brutal.
Elena continued, her voice trembling. "What I'm about to tell you… might leave you in shock."
She took a breath.
"When Aelar took us to the White Basement—the safe room beneath the castle—the Adviser appeared. He told us to open the final door, said the castle wasn't safe anymore. I was about to do it… but Icariel stopped me."
Virethiel frowned. "He… stopped you?"
"Yes," Elena said. "He sensed something was wrong. He said the Adviser wasn't alone… that he'd come with monsters. And he was right."
Virethiel shocked said. "But that vault is heavily enchanted. Even our vision couldn't see beyond those doors."
"Yes. Our elven sight couldn't see through them—but he knew. And that's what shocked the Adviser. He didn't expect anyone to notice. But Icariel… he did. He sensed the danger."
"What happened next?"
Virethiel's breath had caught.
Elena's voice grew tighter. "The Adviser attacked. His goal was to kill Icariel and take us hostage. But Icariel… he didn't just fight. He destroyed the monsters, and then he beat the Adviser—nearly to death."
"He saved us… and told us that staying there longer wasn't safe, so we needed to leave."
Virethiel had opened her mouth, but Elena continued quickly.
"But then… the Adviser got back up. His body lit with rune scripts—glowing symbols. He was going to kill himself and take all of us with him. But Icariel reacted faster. And killed the adviser."
Virethiel's green eyes widened in disbelief.
"The Adviser… a traitor? That explains how they got into the castle unnoticed. Why the gate soldiers never raised the alarm. And the lie… about the invaders coming in four days."
Elena had fallen quiet, but then Elif—standing beside her—had spoken, despite her mother's attempt to silence her.
"There's more, Highness." Elif's voice was quiet but firm. "The moment those rune scripts appeared, Icariel didn't hesitate. It was like he knew what to do. His hand went through the Adviser's heart… and I heard the bones crack. He crushed it without mercy. He really is a strange one, yes, I say that a lot, but..."
Then Elif had stepped forward, bowing her head low.
"But he saved our lives—mine and Mother's. And from what I saw, he saved the Royal Captain too. So please… even if it's not my place to say this, I'm asking you: protect him, Your Highness. He had to take a life, and it's weighing on him—I can see it in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it."
Virethiel had looked up then—eyes narrowing as she watched Icariel clash with Grinis, her daggers flying in a storm of crimson light.
"Don't worry, dear," she said with a faint smile. "Since he's struggling to finish her off, I'll step in. I owe him that much—for cleaning up the mess my negligence left behind."
Back in the present, Virethiel exhaled slowly.
She studied the boy—this survivor from the mountains, bearing wounds no age should carry.
"Quite the story Miss Elena told me. Honestly, I'm still in shock."
She stepped forward.
"But I can't afford to stay stunned. Not now. And truthfully—I don't care what you are."
Her tone softened.
"You stood by my people. For that, I thank you." She extended a hand. "So I ask something of you—once more."
Icariel tilted his head. "Ask what?"
"Fight with me. Help me end this. You've already proved it—Yeti or superhuman, you can kill what others are striving."
"I refuse," Icariel said.
Virethiel blinked. "May I ask why?"
"Because it's not my job," he replied. "I have my own priorities."
He looked at his palms. "I keep getting dragged into these wars. If not for that teleportation, I wouldn't be here."
His voice was hoarse—like something buried beneath a thousand lonely nights. "I'm taking Elena and Elif somewhere safe. I promised. That's all that matters."
Virethiel's eyes narrowed.
Then she stepped forward.
"In that case… how about this?"
He looked up.
"If you fight with me," she said, voice rich with weight, "I'll give you any reward in my power."
She paused.
"Even… a piece of the Tree of Life."
The wind howled.
Icariel's fingers twitched.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
And in his black eyes… something ancient flickered.
[End of Chapter 58]