Tharion let out a long sigh, "So, that is how things stand." He gazed toward the window, his eyelids dropping heavily, as if refusing to stay open.
Suddenly, the door to the room swung open with a loud thud. A five-year-old boy appeared from behind it.
"Father!" The word escaped the lips of the young boy, who was smiling warmly at his father as he walked quickly toward him.
His small arms tried to wrap around Tharion's leg, his head tilting upward. "Father! Father!"
"What is it, Zevaron?" Tharion asked, gently stroking Zevaron's head.
"Mother said that my two older sisters and I have to leave because you and Mother are going to manage the clan." Zevaron puffed out his cheeks. "But is that the only reason the three of us have to leave temporarily?"
Tharion laughed, crouching down with a smile. "Well, what else could it be? This matter mustn't be known by the three of you since you are still underage."
Zevaron tapped his two index fingers together softly. "Alright then." He turned around and ran back toward the door.
That night, the full moon soared high in the sky, casting a light that illuminated the darkness.
However, appearances could not deceive the ears.
Silence.
The night was deadly silent.
There was no sound of living creatures; only the movement of the wind traveling from one place to another.
A gentle breeze blew over the estate of Clan Valerion—a clan of mages once feared across the entire continent. Crystal lanterns emitted a calm, bluish glow… before everything changed.
Suddenly, black shadows blanketed the horizon.
A hundred thousand dark-robed figures appeared soundlessly, surrounding the entire clan territory like a wave of darkness swallowing the light.
A man in a black robe stood at the front of the line of hundreds of thousands of dark-robed figures, his hands tucked behind his back.
"Execute the formation." His voice was calm, yet carried absolute authority.
Fifty thousand troops immediately dispersed, their hands raising in unison. Glowing red runes ignited in the air, connecting with one another to form a giant magic circle that covered the entire Valerion estate.
The air grew heavy.
The ground vibrated faintly.
Clouds began to drift, obscuring the moon.
An invisible pressure descended from the sky like a giant hand pressing down from above. Several clan members in the outer courtyard instantly collapsed, their breath choked by the unseen weight.
"Attack." The command was brief—and the slaughter began.
Fifty thousand troops surged into the clan territory. Flashes of magic and screams mingled with the sound of collapsing buildings.
Yet amidst the chaos—a man stood tall in the main courtyard, his gaze sharp and cold.
Tharion Valerion.
A pale blue magic circle formed beneath his feet. The surrounding air froze, causing everyone nearby to shiver as every exhaled breath turned to vapor. From the magic circle, small but dense ice needles emerged—clear, beautiful… and lethal.
With a single wave of his hand.
Thousands of needles shot forward.
Each needle found its target. Precise. Without a single miss.
Within seconds, thousands of the black-robed troops collapsed simultaneously.
Now, only 34,896 remained.
"The Head of Clan Valerion… Tharion."
A thin smile played on the lips of the black-robed man floating in the air. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dark night.
"Step back. You are no match for him."
The troops immediately retreated, clearing a space while the black-robed man casually walked through the air.
Each of his steps brought a powerful pressure.
The man—Kael—drew a black spear from his storage ring.
He then dived downward, the black spear in his right hand ripping through the air.
"Kael… you brought so many people just to attack my clan?" Tharion's voice was as cold as the ice he commanded.
Tharion opened his index and middle fingers, closing the gap between them just as the tip of Kael's black spear drew near, catching it. "If this is what you are looking for… then you and your men have chosen death."
The temperature around them plummeted drastically, the cold air crystallizing to form an ice sword in his hand. The ice sword was instantly thrust toward the left side of Kael's chest—piercing the air and aiming straight for his heart.
As the ice sword penetrated his body, a freezing sensation surged through flesh and bone, freezing everything in its vicinity. Kael's breath grew heavy, escaping in thin puffs that felt frozen in his throat.
Tharion's eyes widened, his pupils dilating. "Your heart isn't actually where it's supposed to be." But in the next second, all trace of shock vanished. Tharion narrowed his eyes again, as if his brief surprise had never happened.
"Kael… you are too weak."
A new voice echoed. The ground they stood on vibrated from the sheer weight of the speaker's voice.
A blindfolded man stood a few paces behind Kael. His aura was silent… yet terrifying.
He stepped forward, and in a single stride, he was already in front of Tharion.
The blindfolded man flicked his sleeve.
The movement seemed ordinary, but the air in Tharion's lungs was instantly squeezed out, forced out without mercy. His eyes widened, his breath cut short before he could even draw it.
His body was hurled backward, cutting through the air at high speed.
His back crashed violently against a wall.
Cracks spiderwebbed from the point of impact as dust and stone debris rained down around him.
His body stopped abruptly, but the residual momentum caused him to bounce slightly before he finally slumped to the ground.
He coughed violently.
A drop of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. His chest felt crushed; every breath stabbed sharply deep inside.
The blindfolded man turned his gaze toward Kael.
A thin wisp of cold vapor rose from the wound on the left side of Kael's chest, spreading slowly across his blood-stained clothes. With every passing second, the freezing chill crept inward, biting at his flesh and bones from within.
Then—slowly…
Kael turned toward where the blindfolded man stood and bowed his head. His body leaned forward, even though the wound in his chest seemed to scream in protest at every movement. The embedded ice sword vibrated subtly, forcing his breath to hitch roughly.
Blood dripped onto the ground.
Yet, he remained bowed.
On the other side, Tharion, with rigid and broken movements, pushed his body upward. His shoulders trembled, his back arching for a moment before he finally stood erect. His legs bore his body weight, which felt foreign—unstable, almost impossible to control.
"I will tell you something: your clan has become a threat," the blindfolded man said in a flat tone. "Furthermore… you are harboring artifacts from the ancient era and the keepers of ancient secrets."
Tharion's breathing was ragged—short, harsh, and unstable. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out immediately. His throat felt parched, his breath caught between the words he wished to utter.
"…You…" Tharion's voice came out low, hoarse, nearly swallowed by his own breath, "…how could you possibly know the secrets of my clan?"
"You do not need to know," the blindfolded man turned around with his hands behind his back.
"Proceed, and let him live until everyone else is dead," the blindfolded man commanded in a flat tone.
And the slaughter resumed.
Every member of the Valerion clan in sight was instantly decapitated. Blood flowed everywhere across the estate, painting the grounds in a deep shade of crimson.
Elsewhere—a woman with turquoise hair knelt in front of a modest house on the outskirts of the city.
Her arms wrapped around three children—two girls and one boy. She rested her face on the shoulder of the eldest daughter, her eyes tightly shut—not to rest, but to delay the reality that awaited her.
The turquoise-haired woman released her embrace and stood up. "Father, Mother… I entrust them to you."
The grandfather nodded slowly. "As long as we draw breath, they will be safe."
The turquoise-haired woman looked at her three children one by one. "Lylia… Serina… look after Zevaron."
"Mother, come back quickly, okay?" Zevaron's voice was small and innocent; he was only five years old.
A gentle smile appeared on the face of the turquoise-haired woman—her final smile.
The woman turned and walked away. She took a few steps before stopping.
She turned back, her eyelids blinking slowly, not from exhaustion, but as if she were holding back something on the verge of collapsing. That gaze… was neither sharp nor empty—it was full, too full, making it feel heavy just to maintain. Within it lay a quiet reluctance, silently denying the reality of what was to come.
Then, holding her breath, the turquoise-haired woman turned her face away and continued walking… and after a few more steps, her figure began to blur until she finally vanished.
Yet at that exact same moment back at the Valerion estate—someone with the exact same face as the turquoise-haired woman who had just parted with her children lay weak on the ground, her body covered in wounds. They were not twins; they were one and the same person.
Standing before her was a black-haired woman with a cold gaze.
"Hey, look at them. These are your dead children." Three small, lifeless figures lay beside her.
Tears streamed down the turquoise-haired woman's cheeks, but her gaze sharpened, locking onto the black-haired woman.
Her hands slowly clenched into fists until her knuckles turned white. Her gaze hardened, and she slammed both hands against the floor.
The black-haired woman walked toward her with calm steps.
When she was just one step away, she stopped right beside the turquoise-haired woman's head.
The black-haired woman slowly raised her foot, and in the next instant, brought it down, pinning the turquoise-haired woman's head to the ground. Short cracks spread from where her head lay.
The world blurred momentarily in the eyes of the turquoise-haired woman. She gritted her teeth, emitting an even denser killing intent.
"Don't dream of killing me. Wait a moment..." The black-haired woman squatted down slowly.
Her right hand gripped the turquoise-haired woman's neck tightly. She then slowly stood up.
The turquoise-haired woman's body was lifted into the air.
Her hands trembled as she forced them into fists. She raised her arms and brought them down, striking the black-haired woman's arm.
However, the black-haired woman's arm remained unmoved, as if she felt nothing at all. Conversely, the turquoise-haired woman's hands became increasingly difficult to move.
The black-haired woman narrowed her eyes, scanning her from head to toe. A thin smile formed on her face. "…If you cannot kill me, then you shall die with a burning resentment."
The black-haired woman leaned her face close to the turquoise-haired woman's ear. "Rest assured," she whispered. "You will join them soon."
The black-haired woman threw the turquoise-haired woman into the air, and a black dagger flew at high speed, aiming straight for her forehead.
Before the dagger could pierce her head—time seemed to slow down. Her eyes widened slightly, yet it wasn't out of mere fear—it was a sharp, sudden realization. She knew… this was the end.
Behind the cold gleam of the dagger poised to pierce her skull, her mind broke free—falling into something deeper. Memories.
Instantly, fragments of the past flooded her mind. From moments of happiness, to sorrow, to pain—everything flashed vividly before her.
Until the memories of her three children filled her mind… a single thought surfaced:
If I must die today… then I have no regrets. I pulled out my own bone and used a forbidden magic that consumes my own body just to create a clone to deceive them. The pain was agonizing, but I do not regret it… Lylia, Serina, Zevaron, keep living and find happiness in this world without us. I am sorry I cannot accompany you any longer.
A fraction of a second later, the black dagger pierced through her head. Blood poured from the wound and dripped from the blade, staining the floor crimson.
Every falling drop was proof of her sacrifice—a mother who willingly chose death and torment for the sake of her children.