John and Leonidas finally managed to make it through the castle kitchen door on the lower level. Inside, the kitchen was utterly destroyed; the stove was ablaze, flames licking at the ruined cabinetry. The floor was painted crimson with blood, and small trickles of water leaked from the damaged ceiling. "Yo, old man, your kitchen is messed up," John commented, his voice flat.
Leonidas looked over the shoulder of John, and a wave of profound pain flooded his heart. He saw some of the vampire staff, those who had worked diligently in the kitchen, lying dead, their heads severed. John, in this moment, was already used to seeing such carnage; he did not feel the nausea of someone encountering death for the first time. Yet, a deep sadness settled within him. He remembered always coming to this kitchen after training, engaging in small talk with the staff before asking for his meat. Now, he would never see their smiling faces again.
"Let us continue," Leonidas said, his voice a low, pained whisper.
John pushed through a swinging door, finding themselves in a huge hall. "Let us go to the left. We need to find the closest stairs," Leonidas directed.
John nodded, doing as he was told and running through the castle as directed by his grandfather. Leonidas knew this castle inside out, a labyrinth of halls and passages; they would not have trouble reaching their destination quickly. John bounded up the stairs with Leonidas still on his back. He could feel the strain in his legs, but his body was adapting to the heavy weight. He was far stronger now, and his determination to complete their plan remained unwavering.
After about ten minutes of running and navigating the best shortcuts they could find, John and Leonidas peered from behind a wall. The coast was clear, and another flight of stairs awaited. John ran with all his might, his legs burning, until they reached the upper level. They were etching closer to their destination, the office of Leonidas, where the magic communication mirror was kept.
"Let us continue, brat, we need to end this war," Leonidas urged.
"I know, I am just making sure there are no enemies nearby, otherwise we will die for sure," John replied, still scanning their surroundings.
"Do not worry, just head straight down and we will reach the office."
As John ran down the hall, passing various ruined rooms, water dripped from the ceiling, and splashing sounds echoed with every heavy step. John was breathing heavily as he pushed himself toward the office of Leonidas. Luckily, this section of the castle was deserted, but the distant sounds of swords clashing and magic explosions still reverberated throughout the building.
Finally, they reached the office. The door was already broken down, splintered wood scattered across the threshold. John and his grandfather entered, surveying the scene. The entire room had been vandalized.
The expression of Leonidas turned grim as he looked around. Important documents were scattered everywhere, some burned, others torn. It was clear a fierce fight had occurred here; bloodstains splattered the floor, and rainwater poured in from the damaged ceiling. Strangely, no dead bodies were present in the room.
The old vampire noticed something lying on the ground. "Pick up that chair over there, brat, and put me down," he instructed John.
John walked over to the chair, which lay overturned. This was the same sturdy chair where visitors would sit when they came to see Leonidas. John carefully placed his grandfather onto the chair, feeling an immediate wave of relief as the heavy weight was lifted from his back. The young vampire then slowly leaned to one side, savoring the satisfying pull along his torso, then shifted to the other side. With a gentle twist, he rotated his upper body, releasing the tension in his spine. As he lowered his arms, he rolled his shoulders back, letting out a soft sigh of relief, his face relaxing into a content smile.
"So, where should we look for the mirror thing, old man?" John asked, looking around the ransacked office.
Leonidas pointed his index finger toward a corner. "Go through my desk drawers over there."
John turned his head and saw a desk lying upside down. It was crafted from rich, dark wood with intricate carvings showcasing mythical creatures and floral designs, but this piece that was once beautiful was now cracked in half.
The vampire boy reached the desk and, with a surge of strength, managed to lift and position it upright on the floor. There were three drawers. He started with the top one, hurriedly peering inside.
"Did you find the mirror, boy?" Leonidas asked.
"Nope, so far only papers, old man. Where did you put the damn thing?" John was scrambling through the drawer, tossing papers aside but finding nothing.
"Did you check the second drawer?"
"I started with the first drawer, only a bunch of papers. I am going to check the second one," John replied, hurriedly closing the top drawer and opening the one below it. He glanced toward the door, checking for any unexpected guests.
John investigated the second drawer and was met with a beautiful wooden box. He pulled it out and placed it carefully on the ground. "Wow, this looks so cool."
The young vampire boy opened the wooden box. "Goddamn," he breathed.
Leonidas heard him. "What is it, boy? Is it the mirror?"
"No, I found a beautiful dagger in this wooden box," John replied, awe in his voice. He inspected the leather sheath and noticed the name of the dagger etched onto it: 'The Dancing Flame'.
He then unsheathed the dagger to get a better look at it. The dagger featured a sleek blade with two edges and a pronounced taper, showcasing a sharp, gleaming surface. The blade was intricately designed with subtle grooves along its length, adding an elegant touch. The hilt was adorned with a rich, red handle made from polished wood, providing a striking contrast to the metallic accents. The cross guard was crafted from gleaming gold, adding a sense of opulence and balance to the weapon. Accompanying the dagger was a fitted red leather sheath, sturdy and expertly crafted, ensuring safe storage.
"Oh, I forgot about that thing," Leonidas said, dismissing it with a wave. "Decker gave it to me as a gift. Throw it away."
"What!? Are you crazy?!" John exclaimed, aghast. "Can I keep it, old man? Please."
There was a short moment of silence. "Sure, keep it," Leonidas finally conceded. "Now, quickly look for the mirror."
Just as John was about to open the third and last drawer, they heard a voice outside the room. John could feel a cold sweat drip down his back. Leonidas and John exchanged quick glances. "Quickly hide behind the table, boy," Leonidas said in a low tone.
"You go that way; I will check this room for any enemies," one of the mercenary men said to the other from outside.
"Understood."
Footsteps drew closer and closer until one mercenary soldier entered the room. He held his sword in his hand as he gazed around the room, his eyes sweeping across the destruction, until they landed on a man with crimson red hair sitting on a chair. The eyes of the mercenary stretched wide when he saw the legendary figure before him. His hands began to shake out of fear. "Why am I so unlucky to encounter this man?" he thought, terror gripping him.
Leonidas had a light, knowing grin. He kept himself perfectly calm, not showing the enemy any weakness. The soldier, consumed by dread, obviously did not know that the formidable Leonidas was paralyzed from the waist down.
"L... Leonidas Crimson, surrender now or taste the blade of my sword!" The mercenary soldier stuttered, sweat dripping profusely from his forehead as he attempted to threaten the lord of the Crimson family.
Leonidas chuckled lightly. "Listen, lowly human, I will give you this chance to take your little toothpick and fuck off before your head gets twisted like a Rubik's Cube. I suggest you think carefully about your next move."
The human mercenary felt his muscles loosen as a lethal flicker of hope ignited in his chest. He realized he was standing inches away from a legend who could not even stand up to greet him. He took a few cautious steps closer, his boots splashing in the puddles on the floor. When nothing happened, a jagged grin split his face.
"My lord," the man sneered, his voice dripping with newfound arrogance. "Thank you for presenting your head to me on a silver platter."
In the corner, John felt his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird. His fingers brushed against the cool, smooth glass of the communication mirror in the third drawer. He had found it. He finally had the key to the war, but the sound of the mercenary's sword whistling through the air made the artifact feel weightless. Without a second thought, John let the mirror slip from his hands. It hit the floor with a dull thud, forgotten in the face of the immediate threat to the life of his grandfather.
With a surge of desperate adrenaline, John grabbed the heavy wooden table and hurled it toward the man. The mercenary reacted with the practiced speed of a veteran, his blade flashing in a silver arc that sliced the furniture into two jagged halves.
"Hey, you! Stay away from the old man!" John stepped into the light, his voice cracking slightly but his eyes burning. "Come at me if you want to catch the fade, gang!"
John felt a cold sweat slicking his spine. He knew, with a terrifying clarity, that he stood no chance in a fair fight against this man. This mercenary was a shark in a room full of blood, and John was just a boy who had barely learned to swim. Yet, he did not move. His legs shook, but his spirit was steeled. If they were going to die in this ruined office, they would die together.
John stood as a shield in front of Leonidas. "What are you doing, boy?" the old vampire demanded, his voice a low, gravelly command. "I told you to hide!"
"I heard you, old man," John shot back, his gaze locked on the mercenary's sword. "But the jig is up. The man saw through the bluff. We both know I am outclassed, but I am going to try my best to protect you anyway."
Leonidas stared at the narrow back of his grandson. He saw the trembling in the boy's legs, but he also saw the unwavering set of his shoulders. Something deep within the cold, royal heart of the Fire Lord tugged painfully.
"Hahaha! I am going to cut off your limbs, boy, and feed you to my dogs!" The mercenary laughed, a sound of pure, sadistic joy.
"Talking to the Young Master like that," a new voice hissed from the dark, "and attempting the life of our Lord has granted you a one-way ticket to hell."
From the thick shadows near the doorway, two pale hands emerged. They were terrifyingly elegant, tipped with elongated talons that caught the dim light like obsidian needles. Before the mercenary could even register the change in the air, the talons struck with the speed of a viper. They wrapped around his throat with a sound like a closing vice. With a single, fluid twist of his wrists, the intruder snapped the neck of the human. A sickening crack echoed through the office, and the mercenary's body collapsed into a heap, his arrogant grin replaced by a vacant stare.
The newcomer stepped over the corpse, his movements as silent as a ghost. He wore a formal black suit that looked untouched by the chaos of the castle. He stopped before the two and bowed with a grace that felt ancient. His head lowered in deep deference, one arm resting on his thigh while the other remained pressed against his chest.
"Welcome back, my lord," Porto said, his voice a smooth, sophisticated purr. "And you as well, Young Master John."