Leon walked down the corridor. The lamps on the walls flickered, disturbed by the night wind seeping through the cracks. Lokantaka at his waist pulsed softly—as if sharing whatever he was about to do.
"Are you sure about this decision?" Satan whispered.
Leon didn't answer. His hand squeezed the pendant on his chest—still warm, still glowing.
"He's strong," Leon finally said. "I can't waste that."
"He was your enemy."
"Once."
Satan didn't answer. But Leon felt something—not disapproval, but caution.
---
Leon stopped before a door. From behind it, a metallic smell wafted—the smell of half-dried blood. He opened the door.
Inside the small room, a stone bed stood in the center. Upon it lay a body covered in a white cloth. The cloth was already stained red around the abdomen.
Leon walked closer. His hand slowly pulled back the cloth.
Archer's face was pale, his eyes tightly shut. At the corner of his lips, blood had already congealed. In his stomach, a gaping wound—the mark of his own broken arrow.
Leon stood beside the bed, staring at the face of an enemy who died by his own mistake.
"He didn't deserve to die here," Leon murmured.
"You're not responsible for his death. He chose that final arrow for your friend."
Leon sighed. "I know. But that doesn't make me feel any better."
---
Leon sat on a stone bench beside the bed. Lokantaka at his waist still pulsed. On his chest, the pendant still glowed.
"What are you going to do?" Satan asked.
Leon didn't answer. His eyes were still on Archer's face.
"He's strong. He could be a useful soldier."
"You're serious?"
Leon nodded. "I can't fight the Angel Race alone. I need an army. I need... them."
But his hand trembled. Not from fear—but from doubt.
He had never raised an enemy before. Valker was an unknown soldier on the battlefield. Fenrith was a monster wolf pack leader. But Archer... Archer was an elven archer he had fought in the arena. The one who nearly killed Sylphine.
"This is different," Leon whispered.
"Indeed," Satan replied. "But that doesn't make it wrong."
Leon clenched his hand. Took a long breath.
---
Leon stood. His hand reached out, his right palm touching Archer's cold chest.
Darkness began to flow from his palm. Not like when he fought Deathblade Dancer—not Singularity Grasp. This was different. This was a summoning.
The darkness spread from Leon's hand to Archer's body. Wrapping around the wound in his stomach. Filling the empty cavities in his chest. Creeping to his neck, his face, his fingertips.
Leon closed his eyes. Felt Archer's soul—still there, still lingering, still trapped between life and death.
"You can choose," Leon whispered. "You can leave. Or you can... rise. With me. Become stronger than before."
Archer's soul resisted. Fiercely, just as he had in life. Leon felt hatred, anger, a desire to kill—all still burning.
"I know you hate me," Leon said. "But you hate death more than that. Rise. Prove that you didn't die in vain."
Slowly, the hatred began to fade. Replaced by... curiosity. Then... resignation.
Leon took a breath. "Rise, Sylvaris."
---
Darkness enveloped Archer's body. The wound in his stomach slowly closed—replaced by glowing black lines spreading across his skin.
His eyes opened.
Pale blue. Empty. But not like an ordinary corpse. There was something there—awareness, however faint.
Archer rose from the stone bed, his body stiff, his movements like someone learning to walk. He stared at Leon—long, without blinking.
"Ma... ster..." his voice was hoarse, as if from afar.
Leon didn't answer. He stared into those pale blue eyes—was there still hatred left? Or only a shadow?
"Sylvaris," Leon said. "You are Sylvaris."
Sylvaris knelt before Leon. Not from force—but like... acceptance.
"Sylvaris... accepts."
"You gave him a new name," Satan whispered. "That's good. The old name carried hatred. A new name... a new beginning."
Leon nodded. "I don't need more enemies. I need an army."
---
Leon extended his hand. Sylvaris stared at it for a moment, then grasped it. His hand was cold, but not like ice—cold like death itself.
"What do you remember?" Leon asked.
Sylvaris blinked. His empty eyes flickered—slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"I... remember a bow," he said slowly. "I remember... arrows. I remember..." he looked at Leon. "...death."
Leon nodded. "That's enough. You'll learn the rest later."
He patted Sylvaris's shoulder. "Return for now. I'll call you again when needed."
Behind Sylvaris, a spatial rift opened. Sylvaris stared at it for a moment, then stepped inside. The rift closed, leaving Leon alone in that small room.
The metallic smell still lingered. The white cloth on the stone bed was still stained red. But Archer's body was gone.
---
Leon stepped out of the room. In the corridor, the lamps still flickered. Lokantaka at his waist pulsed—stronger than before.
"Three soldier commanders," Satan whispered. "Valker, Fenrith. Now Sylvaris. Your army is taking shape."
Leon didn't answer. His hand touched the pendant on his chest. Still warm. Still glowing.
"Now where?"
Leon walked down the corridor. At the end, the door to the healing room—where Sylphine was being treated.
"To pick someone up."
Lokantaka at his waist pulsed. The pendant on his chest glowed. And in another dimension, Sylvaris waited—an archer with pale blue eyes, ready to serve his new master.
Leon's journey was not yet over.
=== CHAPTER 23 END ===