After hours that felt longer than a lifetime, Yuuta finally reached the end.
Only ten steps remained.
His vision had long since blurred, the world reduced to vague shapes and dull colors. His spine screamed in protest, every movement sending pain through his back as if a hammer were striking bone again and again. His legs no longer felt like his own—only trembling pillars driven forward by sheer will.
Still, he climbed.
Above him, the crusaders noticed first.
"Water—now!"
They rushed forward, abandoning all discipline, carrying flasks, food, cloaks, anything they could grab. Maids followed close behind, their hands full of warm cloth, medical kits, and blankets meant to protect him from the sudden chill of rain-soaked air.
Yuuta took the final step.
The moment his foot touched the top, the rain stopped.
As if heaven itself had been waiting for that single instant.
Cheers erupted. Some crusaders dropped to their knees in relief, others laughed, cried, or raised their fists toward the sky. The mountain echoed with joy—not victory over an enemy, but respect earned through suffering.
Yuuta gently lowered Erza to her feet.
His hands trembled as he released her, his strength finally slipping away now that the task was complete. He lifted his eyes to her face, rainwater and tears mixing freely, and smiled.
It was the same foolish smile.
The one he always wore after hurting himself beyond reason.
The smile that said I'm fine even when everything was broken.
Erza felt it instantly.
"Yuuta—"
His knees buckled.
His body gave in all at once, like a puppet whose strings had finally been cut. He tipped forward, consciousness slipping away before he could say a word.
Erza caught him.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, barely managing to keep him upright as his full weight leaned into her. His head fell against her chest, his breath shallow but steady.
For a moment, the world went quiet again.
Erza held him tightly, her hands shaking—not from weakness, but from the aftermath of fear she had never known she could feel.
"You idiot…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
"…why would you go this far?"
But she did not let him go.
Not even for a second.
The moment Yuuta's body sagged, the crusaders rushed forward.
"Keep him awake!"
"Don't let him close his eyes!"
Hands reached out from every direction, steadying his shoulders, supporting his back, keeping him upright as his consciousness flickered like a dying flame. Someone brought water at once, lifting the flask to his lips.
"Drink—slowly."
Yuuta tried.
But his throat refused to respond.
The water spilled against his lips, dribbling uselessly down his chin. He coughed weakly, his body rejecting it as if even swallowing had become too much.
"He can't drink," one crusader muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
"If we force it, he'll choke," another warned. "His body's exhausted—his reflexes aren't responding."
They exchanged uneasy glances, fear settling in their eyes.
Erza did not hesitate.
She took the flask from their hands without a word, lifted it to her own lips, and drank deeply. Then, before anyone could react, she leaned down and pressed her mouth to Yuuta's.
The world seemed to freeze.
The crusaders' eyes widened. Maids gasped softly, hands flying to their mouths. No one spoke. No one moved.
Erza tilted her head gently, letting the water flow from her mouth into his.
Yuuta reacted instinctively.
His throat moved. Slowly—then again. He swallowed.
A soft sound escaped his chest as his body finally accepted the water, drinking through her, guided by her warmth. Erza stayed there, steady and unshaken, her eyes closed as she focused only on him.
And then she felt it.
The truth struck her like a blade.
Blood.
His mouth was damaged—raw, torn. She realized then why he couldn't drink. In his desperation, his thirst unbearable, Yuuta had bitten his own tongue, his inner cheeks—using blood just to keep moving, using pain as fuel when his body had nothing left.
Her chest tightened.
You idiot…
But her body responded before her heart could break.
Being a dragon, her saliva carried healing. Warmth spread where her lips touched his, mending torn flesh, easing the pain that had made swallowing impossible. She pulled back only to take another mouthful of water—and leaned in again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Each time, Yuuta swallowed more easily, his breathing growing steadier, color slowly returning to his face. When he finally exhaled softly, his body relaxing in her arms, Erza pulled away.
"That's enough," she whispered, brushing her forehead against his.
Around them, the tension broke.
Some crusaders looked away out of respect. Others watched with softened eyes, awe replacing shock. A few maids wiped their tears quietly, moved by a tenderness none of them had expected to witness.
A wooden chair was brought forward at once.
Erza guided Yuuta down, helping him sit before his legs could give out again. He slumped back weakly, eyes half-lidded, still not fully conscious.
The maids moved in carefully, wrapping warm cloth around his shoulders, applying medicine to his bleeding feet, their hands gentle as if he might shatter.
Erza stayed close.
She did not let go of his hand.
Not now.
Not after everything he had endured for her.
Allen approached in silence.
Each of his footsteps was heavy, as though the ground itself resisted him. The rain had stopped, the sky dim and oppressive, but the fury radiating from him had not faded. A dark aura leaked from his body—uncontrolled, violent—yet held back by unseen restraints that kept his full power locked away.
Even so, it was enough.
He was dragging someone.
The sound of fabric scraping against stone cut through the air as Allen reached the center of the gathering. The crusaders tending to Yuuta froze. The maids instinctively stepped back. Erza, still seated close to Yuuta, felt it immediately—the suffocating pressure of a demon who had witnessed something unforgivable.
Allen stopped.
Without ceremony, he threw the man forward.
The body hit the ground hard, rolling once before coming to a halt at Erza's feet.
Silence fell.
No laughter. No whispers. Not even the sound of armor shifting.
Allen dropped to one knee.
"My mistress," he said, his voice trembling with rage barely contained. "I bring before you the one responsible."
His gaze burned as he looked up.
"The culprit who drove our master to this state."
Erza turned slowly.
Her eyes met the fallen man's face.
Father Nelson.
His once-pristine white robes were smeared with dirt and rainwater, torn and disheveled from being dragged across stone. He struggled to push himself upright, hands trembling, breath uneven. When he looked up and saw Erza standing over him, understanding dawned in his eyes.
He did not speak.
Around them, crusaders finally reacted.
"Father!"
Swords were drawn in an instant. Several rushed forward, instincts screaming to protect the man they revered.
But Allen lifted his head.
He did not shout.
He merely looked at them.
The effect was immediate.
The crusaders stopped mid-step. Their bodies locked in place, knees trembling, hands frozen around their weapons. The fear that seized them was primal—ancient. The fear of death staring back at them through inhuman eyes.
No one moved.
Erza stepped forward.
Her movements were slow, deliberate. Each step carried weight. The air itself seemed to tighten as she approached Father Nelson.
He tried to rise again, failed, and lowered his head.
Erza raised her hand.
The skin shifted.
White scales emerged, gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her fingers elongated, forming a dragon's claw—sharp, elegant, and terrifying. The talons extended far beyond human proportion, each one capable of ending a life in a single motion.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
A dragon's claw.
The symbol of final judgment.
Father Nelson closed his eyes.
Allen smiled.
Not with joy—but with certainty.
He knew his queen.
And he knew this was not a moment for mercy.
Not after watching his master bleed, crawl, and nearly die for love.
The claw hovered in the air.
Ready to fall.
Erza's hand descended.
It was not rushed.
It was deliberate.
The white-scaled dragon claw cut through the air, carrying with it a crushing pressure that bent the space around it. The ground beneath Father Nelson cracked even before the strike landed, as if the world itself understood what was coming. This was not anger alone—it was judgment.
The air grew dense. Breathing became difficult. Even those standing far away felt their chests tighten, as though the sky itself was pressing down.
Father Nelson did not move.
He did not scream.
He did not beg.
The claw stopped inches from his head.
A sudden force collided with Erza's attack.
The impact sent a violent shockwave through the courtyard. Stone shattered beneath their feet. The air tore apart with a deafening roar, and for a brief moment, it felt as though oxygen itself had vanished. Crusaders were thrown backward, armor crashing against the ground. Maids cried out as they were flung aside.
Allen was hurled away, slamming hard into the stone. Blood spilled from his mouth as he struggled to rise.
The sky above split open, clouds scattering violently as the pressure surged upward.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Erza staggered back half a step, breathing hard. Steam rose from her arm where her power had been halted. Her claw trembled—not from weakness, but from disbelief.
Someone was holding it.
She lifted her eyes.
"…What are you doing, Fossil?"
Grandpa stood before her, one hand gripping her dragon claw. His feet were planted firmly, cracks spreading beneath them. His expression was calm, almost painfully so, as though this moment had been long expected.
"I can't let you kill this man," he said quietly.
Erza's breath caught.
Her eyes burned, tears gathering despite her fury.
"Why?" she demanded.
Her voice shook—not because she was weak, but because something inside her was breaking.
"Why are you protecting a human?" she shouted.
"Have you lost your mind? After everything, you choose to side with them?"
Grandpa did not raise his voice.
He knew this rage. He had seen it before.
"Don't forget," he said evenly, "your husband is human too."
Erza's lips trembled. For a moment, something fragile flickered across her face—then it twisted into a snarl.
"He is not fully human," she snapped.
"That doesn't count. And you know that."
Grandpa's eyes softened—not in pity, but in understanding.
"To me," he said quietly, "Yuuta is human."
He paused, then continued, his voice steady but heavy.
"And I cannot let you kill this man… because he showed me how ignorant I was."
The air changed.
Erza's teeth sharpened, lengthening slightly as her dragon instincts surfaced. White scales crawled farther along her arm, spreading like frost. The pressure around her thickened, suffocating, as her aura surged—violent, unstable, reaching a point where even the world seemed unsure how to respond.
"You are stopping a queen's judgment," she said, her voice low and venomous.
"Do you even understand what you're doing?"
Grandpa met her gaze without flinching.
"I do."
Her restraint shattered.
"YOU DO?" she roared.
"THEN WHY ARE YOU SIDING WITH HUMANS?"
Her voice shook the air itself.
"These disgusting creatures always take what is mine. Every time I find happiness, they come with their filthy plans and ruin my life. THEY SHOULD BE ERASED FROM THIS EXISTENCE!"
The ground trembled beneath her fury.
Grandpa understood.
This was the same rage she had carried the day her mother died. The same madness that had once drowned cities in Nova—every place except Eden. If she lost herself again, this world would not survive her judgment.
That was why he stood there.
He knew that if Erza was not stopped now, everything would burn. And worse—when the rage faded, when the silence returned, she would be left with regret too heavy to bear.
So he spoke.
Not loudly.
Not in anger.
One sentence.
One truth.
A single word that cut deeper than any blade.
The air froze.
Erza's aura vanished instantly. Her scales receded. Her breath caught as her eyes widened in disbelief, as though the world itself had struck her.
In that moment—
Everything changed.
To be continued.