[Rowan's POV]
Standing across from the monsters who had stolen everything from me, I felt nothing. No rage. No grief. Just a stillness, cold and absolute.
It should have unsettled me—this unnatural calm—but instead, it settled deep into my bones, steadying my breath, sharpening my focus.
Victor was waiting in Gideon's shack. How fitting.
The place where it all began, where blood had once soaked the dirt, where I had fled like a beaten dog. But today, there would be no running. No looking over my shoulder.
Today, I would kill him.
I had to.
This was it. The final breath before the storm.
"Well then… I guess there's nothing left to discuss."
My voice carried, slicing through the silence, and then I stepped forward.
The ground felt solid beneath my boots, the weight of a hundred men behind me, their presence pressing close, moving as one.
They would fight for me. Bleed for me.
Die for my revenge.
And I would give them their war.
I shot forward, tearing through the battlefield like an arrow loosed from a bow. The enemy pressed in, thick as a swarm, but I had no intention of lingering.
I was leading them straight into the slaughterhouse—Talia and the others could handle the rest. My focus was singular.
The weight of my new dagger—closer to a short sword than anything else—felt solid in my grip, a natural extension of my arm.
The first clash came in a blur. A double-winged soldier lunged, but I was faster. Mana surged through my legs, and in an instant, I closed the distance.
One clean slash.
The blade cut deep into his throat, his momentum carrying him a step forward before his body realized it was dead. No scream. No resistance. Just death.
I didn't stop.
I moved through the chaos like a phantom, weaving between bodies, slipping past clumsy sword swings and desperate grasps.
The fools who tried to keep up met quick ends—steel biting into flesh, blood spraying as I cut through their ranks.
A blade hissed past my ribs—I twisted. Another came for my back—I ducked. Their strikes felt slow, sluggish, as if they were drowning while I moved through open air.
Another throat slit. Another corpse crumpling. I had no time for drawn-out fights.
Then, I was through.
The battlefield roared behind me, but there was no one left at my back. I exhaled, feeling the mana surge in my veins, strengthening my legs and urging me onward.
I sprinted toward Gideon's shack. Today, I would need every ounce of power I had.
Then I reached it.
The shack stood before me, just as decrepit as the day I first tore through its ruins in search of The Link. But now, it wasn't just ghosts of the past clawing at my mind—it was the weight of the present pressing down, suffocating, relentless.
I forced in a breath. Exhaled. Then, without hesitation, I stepped inside.
There he was.
Victor sat on that battered excuse for a throne as if he belonged there, as if the filth around him was a kingdom worth ruling. My pulse spiked, my fingers tightening around my blade.
His lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Welcome, snake." His voice was calm, almost amused. Arrogant.
Beside him, Count Veyra's obsidian sword rested against the throne.
So he could wield it.
My jaw clenched.
The air between us felt charged, humming with the promise of violence. My breath was slow, measured, but inside, my blood thundered in my ears.
Victor rose from his throne, fingers curling around the obsidian sword like it was made for his grip. My pulse quickened, but I grinned, sharp and reckless.
"Don't think this will end like last time, bitch."
His gaze never wavered. He took a step forward, the weight of his presence pressing against the room like a coming storm.
"You're right," he said, his voice quiet, cold. "This time, I won't walk away."
He said it like a fact. Like the ending had already been written. Maybe it had—but not by him.
I tightened my grip on my dagger as we closed the distance. The grins never left our faces. His was cruel, mine was hungry.
Mother, I will end him for you.
Then his sword flared to life. Mana poured into the obsidian like liquid fire, tracing jagged lines along the blade's surface, humming with raw power. My breath hitched. What the hell?
He struck first. A wide, sweeping arc meant to test me. I wrenched myself back, mana coiling in my legs as I dodged the strike.
The moment his sword passed, I lunged in low, aiming to carve into his side—fast, clean, but he was already moving. His blade shot forward like a viper, stabbing toward my chest.
Unfair reach.
I twisted sharply, feeling the edge of his sword graze the air just inches from my ribs. My dagger flashed toward his arm, a quick slash meant to draw first blood, but—
Clink.
Steel met steel. The force of it rattled through my bones.
A test of strength.
One I lost.
His sword shoved mine aside, my arm flinging back from the sheer force. I barely had time to catch my footing before he came again, relentless, merciless.
This wasn't a duel.
This was an execution.
And I was the condemned.
Victor was on me before I could even think, his sword already thrusting toward my heart. Too fast.
I couldn't block—not with the sheer force behind that strike—so I wrenched my body to the left, deflecting his blade just enough to avoid a fatal blow.
A mistake.
His leg, wreathed in mana, slammed into my ribs like a battering ram.
My feet left the ground. The air tore past me as I was flung backward, my body crashing into the floor and skidding meters away.
Fuck—what does this bastard eat?
Pain flared along my side, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I rolled, forcing myself up just as Victor was already closing the distance, his sword a dark blur streaking toward me.
I twisted, barely dodging—but not enough. The mana-laced blade grazed my chest, and suddenly, fire ripped through my skin.
A thin, jagged line of blood welled up where my shirt had been torn open. Shallow, but deep enough to burn like hell.
No time to breathe.
I forced myself forward, dagger flashing as I struck toward his side—fast, decisive.
But Victor was faster.
His fist, wreathed in that eerie green aura, snapped forward. I barely saw it before it crashed into my face.
My skull rocked, pain detonating across my cheekbone as I was sent sprawling again. My vision blurred. The ground tilted beneath me.
That wasn't just brute strength. The mana in his punch lingered, buzzing beneath my skin like poison.
I spat blood and staggered upright. I'd barely touched him.
My fingers brushed against my cheek, the skin raw, blistered—burned. The pain was dull beneath the adrenaline, but the wrongness of the texture sent a shiver down my spine.
I couldn't let this drag on.
Victor stood poised, ready to strike, that damned obsidian sword humming with power.
I kept moving, circling, inching closer to the collapsed section of the shack—the broken remains of what had once been a wall.
He watched me, waiting.
I reached the pile of shattered wood just as he lunged.
My hand darted out, fingers closing around a thick, splintered beam as long as my arm. Without a second thought, I hurled it at him.
He reacted instantly, his sword flashing in a clean arc.
Perfect.
Before the split halves even hit the ground, I was already moving—faster than before, draining my mana core in one reckless burst.
Victor's sword was still mid-swing. His balance off.
My dagger struck first, slicing across his ribs. A hiss of pain. A spray of blood.
Shallow. Not enough. Damn it.
Victor growled and lashed out, his arm coated in that seething green aura. I twisted away just in time—but his sword was already flashing toward me, faster than I could react.
I lifted my dagger to parry.
The moment his mana-infused blade collided with mine, I heard it—
Snap.
A jagged crack ripped through the air. My weapon—the one I had barely broken in—was now an inch shorter, the broken tip clattering to the ground.
Victor's grin was sharp, predatory. His sword blurred into a diagonal sweep, a vicious arc meant to carve me open from hip to shoulder.
No time to think.
Mana surged, flooding my legs with burning heat. I jumped.
The blade hissed beneath me, a whisper of death slicing the air just below my ribs. Too close. I swore I felt the heat of the aura graze my skin.
Victor's smirk flickered—just for an instant—but I caught it.
I hit the ground, my palm slamming into the wood. Dust stung my lungs, but I didn't stop. My body twisted, the momentum carrying through as I pivoted, my legs whipping low and fast.
My boot connected with his shin—reinforced by mana, solid as iron.
A dull thud.
Victor's leg buckled, his stance faltering. He didn't fall—not yet.
I pushed off, leaping back to gain distance. My breath came in sharp bursts, my broken dagger feeling twice as useless in my grip.
A dull ache throbbed beneath my skin, a warning of the drain creeping through me. My mana reserves were already dipping past the halfway point, the burn in my limbs growing heavier with every movement.
But I couldn't let him see it. Couldn't show weakness.
I lunged.
Victor's sword was already rising to meet me, his stance solid, his gaze sharp. I slashed with my ruined dagger, aiming for his ribs, but he was faster.
He caught my blade with his own, parrying the attack with brutal efficiency.
Then his sword flicked forward.
Aimed straight for my eye.
I barely ducked in time, feeling the deadly whisper of steel slice through the air above me. No hesitation—I poured mana into my legs, twisting my body in a sharp roundhouse kick.
My foot connected with his side, the impact forcing him to stagger, boots scraping against the dirt.
Victor grunted, his eyes narrowing. And then—
I felt it.
The shift in the air. The sudden spike of his mana.
A breath later, he vanished.
No, not vanished—moved.
Too fast. Too sudden.
By the time I registered it, he was already in front of me. A shadow of motion, a blur of raw power.
His boot slammed into my chest.
Pain exploded through my ribs as I was ripped off my feet, my breath torn from my lungs in a single, brutal instant.
The world twisted—sky, ground, shack, all blending into a dizzying smear of color.
Then—impact.
My back slammed into the wall with bone-rattling force. Wood splintered. Something cracked. And then—
The entire wall gave way beneath me.
Darkness crawled at the edges of my vision, thick and suffocating. My chest seized, lungs locked tight, refusing to draw in air.
Every nerve screamed in protest, the impact still rattling through my bones.
Then—laughter. Low, cruel, laced with mockery.
A voice followed, cutting through the haze like a blade.
"You thought you could kill me?"
Arrogance dripped from every syllable, each word steeped in a certainty that made my skin crawl. It wasn't just confidence—it was belief. Unshakable. Unquestioning.
"Me?! The executioner of death?!" His voice rose, edged with something almost fanatical. "The one who ensures the world remains in order?!"
What the hell was he talking about?
My head swam, his words clawing at the corners of my mind, but I shoved them aside. Death? No. Not yet.
A breath. Shallow. Painful. But real.
Not yet.