Zyraeth understood the severity immediately.
At this point, he couldn't afford pride or appearances. He went all-in, frantically gathering every shred of power he had, trying anything—anything—to keep his soul intact.
As long as the soul survived, there was still a chance. Rebuild a body. Claw his way back to life.
But he realized almost at once—
It wouldn't work.
The runes on that sword had already sealed his flesh and soul together.
It wasn't just a stab through the heart. The moment the blade made contact, it nailed him into a single, inseparable whole—body and spirit fused into the same doomed package.
If the sword's power surged one more time, he'd be erased completely. Flesh to soul, ground down until there wasn't even a trace left.
"Valtheron!"
Real fear finally broke through Zyraeth's voice.
"Don't forget—back then, I spared you! I let you live until today! Don't you owe me the same?"
Valtheron still didn't answer.
He simply kept pushing power.
