In the Denisse territory, night fell over the capital city. From atop the battlements, Count Tomás watched the horizon with cold eyes, his heart beating in time with a plan that consumed him. Desperation and ambition had driven him into a pact few could endure: every innocent life brought before him was a sacrifice, and each sacrifice strengthened his magic—and his power.

  Below, the people of his domain arrived with trust in their eyes, guided by the promise of safety he had given them. None suspected what awaited them. The cultists had prepared "shelters," vast torchlit buildings meant to inspire comfort. Yet every room was a trap—improvised altars and summoning circles covered the floors, waiting for victims who would never walk out alive.

  A scream echoed from one of the buildings, followed by the rattle of chains and the dull thud of falling bodies. Demons emerged from the shadows, eyes burning, claws gleaming, feeding on despair and fear. Five hundred thousand souls in barely fifteen days had vanished into the silence of the night, and Tomás's power grew with each one.

  Meanwhile, in a café in Vayllencity, Keitaro, Richard, and Edward exchanged hurried words, their faces lit by the warm glow of candlelight.

  "I'm telling you, what I saw was real," Keitaro said, his voice steady but edged with alarm.

  Richard went pale. "It can't be… Are you saying they're burning people?"

  "That's only the fa?ade," Keitaro replied. "The Denisse claim it's an epidemic, but it isn't. Every death is calculated. Every sacrifice serves a purpose. We have to uncover the truth before it's too late."

  Edward clenched his fist, trembling with rage. "Damn them! They made a deal with demons… they're sacrificing thousands of innocents!"

  As they spoke, distant lightning illuminated the sky, reflecting in the windows like a silent mirror of the horrors unfolding in streets and buildings far away. The city appeared calm, but in every shadow, in every alleyway, fear prowled like a starving beast.

  The three men exchanged glances. They knew what lay ahead would not be a simple confrontation. It was a war against something beyond logic—a dark power that could devour them all if they did not act swiftly.

  The academy arena lay under a tense silence, as though even the wind were holding its breath. Every spectator knew they were about to witness the rematch awaited for weeks: Conwick Briggs versus Kasper Bourlance.

  "At last, we face each other again, Kasper," Conwick said, his deep voice carrying across the stands. "This time, I'll defeat you."

  Kasper met his gaze, calm but with muscles coiled tight, remembering his training alongside his sister. "I'm sorry," he replied, eyes cold and calculating, lips barely moving. "But I'll have to show you the difference between us."

  Conwick activated his transformation. Metallic armor surged from his body like dark lightning, reflecting sunlight in blinding flashes. Every muscle seemed reinforced; every breath boomed like a drum. With a roar that shook the arena, he lunged forward, fists tearing through the air with terrifying force, gusts of wind whipping his cape and scattering sand.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Kasper moved like water through unseen currents. His steps were light, nearly imperceptible, and each turn of his sword traced arcs of blue light that deflected Conwick's blows as though the steel followed an ancient, choreographed dance. Every clash rang like dry thunder, vibrating through the arena's foundations and sending spirals of dust into the air, glittering against Conwick's armor like shattered crystal.

  "No matter how much you hit me!" Conwick shouted, panting, rage etched across his face. "I can endure anything!"

  Kasper did not answer. His eyes narrowed as he focused his mana; a blue radiance flowed across his body and blade, crackling like contained lightning. He advanced with fluid, swift, calculated movements. There was no hesitation. Every thrust and turn pierced through Conwick's metallic defense. Each impact made the armor groan, rattled his limbs, and sent sparks flying into the dust-filled air.

  Conwick tried to hold his ground, blocking and pushing back, but Kasper seemed to anticipate every reaction. He struck with precision, spun him through the air, and hurled him several meters away. Conwick twisted midair before crashing into the sand. Dust rose and caught the sunlight, flashing against the chipped metal of his armor.

  Kasper stepped forward, sword gleaming like restrained lightning, breathing steady and controlled, hair slightly disheveled by the wind of battle. Every muscle was taut, poised for a single decisive blow. With one fluid motion, he brought Conwick down with a final strike that echoed like a sharp thunderclap, leaving him unconscious.

  The arena fell into absolute silence. Conwick lay on the ground, covered in dust and splintered metal, while Kasper stood firm, breathing evenly, observing with cold precision. The crowd erupted in cheers, but in his mind there was only one certainty:

  Impulsive strength could never defeat absolute control.

  Lusian had been waiting for this moment for days. Since the argument over Isabella, Elizabeth had avoided him, and every second of silence burned inside his chest. Finally, when he saw her alone in a secluded corridor, he did not hesitate. He gently took her by the waist and guided her toward a corner where no one could interrupt them.

  Elizabeth tried to resist, but her strength was more symbolic than real. Lusian leaned closer, seeking her lips, and she pulled away immediately, eyes shining with frustration and confusion.

  "Did you grow tired of your servant and come running back to me?" she asked, her voice firm though a thread of vulnerability slipped through.

  "It's not like that," Lusian replied, breath uneven. "I know I was wrong—I should have spoken to you before everything spiraled out of control… but please, don't punish me like this."

  Elizabeth crossed her arms, trying to steady herself. "If I don't punish you, how many more will get involved with you?" Her voice trembled slightly. "I don't want to share you with anyone."

  A knot tightened in Lusian's stomach. Every word reminded him how deeply he could hurt her without ever intending to. He embraced her carefully, drawing her close without overwhelming her, his heart pounding. "Then… will you forgive me?" he whispered, searching her eyes for even a spark of hope.

  Elizabeth lowered her gaze, fighting the mixture of anger and affection that confused her as much as it did him. "No… you shameless womanizer," she shot back, lightly striking his chest, trying to cling to her anger even as her body betrayed her.

  Lusian softened his hold, his voice trembling with sincerity. "It's not about that… not about anyone else. It's you, Elizabeth. You're the one I want to protect—the one who means more to me than any mistake I've made. Let me prove how much you matter to me."

  For a moment, she looked at him and saw everything he left unsaid: regret, longing, fear of losing her. Her frustration blended with a yearning she did not even want to admit to herself. Slowly, she let her guard fall and allowed him to draw her closer, their lips meeting in a soft kiss, heavy with tension and restraint.

  When they parted, the silence between them was thick with unspoken promises. Elizabeth could not deny that she had missed him, that every touch stirred emotions she had tried to bury. And Lusian felt the weight of his mistakes—but also the certainty that he could not let her go.