The force of Vaelor's strike still vibrated through Aldrich's bones.
Dust floated through the courtyard like drifting ash, settling on broken tiles and bodies that had not yet cooled. The lanterns flickered in the night wind, casting stretched shadows across the ground—warped silhouettes of two men locked in a battle that felt older than either of them.
Aldrich exhaled once, steadying his heartbeat.
Vaelor came at him again—blade arcing low, then twisting up in a feint meant to slice Aldrich's throat. But Aldrich had seen feints like this from beasts ten times a man's size. Hollowdene had carved instinct into his marrow. His body moved without hesitation.
He stepped inside Vaelor's guard, redirected the incoming cut with the flat of his blade, and struck at Vaelor's ribs. The patriarch blocked it, but his breath hitched—
—Aldrich had matched him.
Matched him… and was beginning to surpass him.
Aldrich slid backward, grounded his stance, and felt it:
The blood of the Yagurah.
Not a myth. Not a story.
A pulse in his veins. A calm in the storm.
A warrior's blood.
It sharpened him. Centered him. Every movement Vaelor made became clearer—his weight distribution, his breathing pattern, the tiny delays in muscle tension before each attack.
Vaelor lunged.
Aldrich countered.
Vaelor pressed harder.
Aldrich adapted faster.
The patriarch snarled, "You insolent brat—!"
Aldrich answered with steel.
Their swords met in a violent crash that split open the air. Aldrich felt Vaelor beginning to break—his breath coming heavier, his stance faltering, his shoulders tightening under the strain. The more Vaelor pushed, the more Aldrich redirected, recycled, and weaponized that force.
This was what Hollowdene had forged in him.
This was the way of survival.
This was the Yagurah.
Vaelor stepped forward for a killing blow.
Aldrich slid under the strike, pivoted on his heel, and drove the katana straight into Vaelor's chest.
The blade pierced clean through rib bone.
Vaelor gasped—eyes widening, pupils trembling.
His sword clattered to the ground.
He staggered back, breathing shallow, fingers gripping the blade buried in his heart as if trying to pull breath back into his body.
Blood dripped from his lips.
He tried to lift his head—barely—only to drop it again, chin nearly hitting his chest.
Aldrich tilted his head, voice calm and cutting.
"Are you looking for something down there?"
Vaelor's knees buckled.
Aldrich tightened his grip, twisted the blade upward—
—and with a sharp, merciless strike, he cleaved the katana up through Vaelor's chest, carving through his heart and splitting up into his left shoulder.
Bone cracked.
Blood sprayed warm across Aldrich's face.
Vaelor dropped backward, arms limp, eyes frozen in shock.
The patriarch of the Saelari clan was dead.
Aldrich pulled his blade free with one swift jerk, letting Vaelor's blood run down the steel. He flicked it aside, stepping around the corpse without even a passing glance.
And then—
Laughter.
Two voices.
Mocking, familiar.
Cruel.
Aldrich froze mid-step.
The sound slithered across the courtyard from the shadows of a nearby rooftop. Two silhouettes appeared—lean, masked figures with light armor, twin short swords on each hip.
But Aldrich didn't need to see their faces.
He knew their voices.
He knew exactly who they were.
The ones who had run his father through.
The ones who dragged his mother by the hair.
The ones who laughed while his sister begged for her life.
Aldrich didn't speak.
He didn't think.
He moved.
Fury snapped his body into motion—pure instinct, pure hatred, pure nine years of agony finally finding a target worth killing. He rushed them with such speed that the tiles cracked beneath his feet.
The assassins grinned coldly, drawing their blades.
Kuros and Shani Saelari.
The clan's shadow twins.
Their names meant nothing to Aldrich—but their voices meant everything.
Kuros flicked two daggers at him with pinpoint precision.
Shani lunged with blinding speed, short sword aimed at his ribs.
Aldrich blocked Shani's strike with the flat of his blade while twisting his torso just enough for the daggers to miss. But Kuros was already behind him, drawing a serrated blade for a neck cut.
Aldrich ducked.
Steel grazed his cheek—blood spilled.
He ignored it.
Kuros and Shani were faster than the patriarch.
Sharper.
More coordinated.
Each moved like a perfect extension of the other, breathing in sync, attacking in mirrored patterns.
They weren't warriors.
They were specialists—trained to kill apex humans.
Aldrich felt exhaustion clawing up his spine. His arms burned. His lungs strained. His legs trembled from the previous battle. But exhaustion didn't matter.
Fury pushed him past it.
Shani stabbed low—Aldrich parried.
Kuros swung from above—Aldrich blocked.
Shani cut at his side—Aldrich pivoted.
Kuros kicked at his knee—Aldrich slipped backward and countered with a slash.
Nothing landed cleanly.
Not yet.
Shani smirked. "He's slowing—cut his tendons, brother."
Kuros stepped forward, blades ready. "Make it quick. I'm bored."
Their voices.
Those damn voices.
Aldrich felt the world collapse into a singular focus:
Kill them.
Kill them like they killed his family.
Kill them without pause.
Kill them until his rage cooled into ash.
Shani lunged again.
This time, Aldrich didn't block.
He grabbed her wrist, twisted it until bone cracked, and slammed his forehead into her jaw so hard her teeth shattered.
Kuros appeared behind him—silent, precise—but Aldrich spun, used Shani's collapsing body as a barrier, and kicked her into him.
They stumbled.
Aldrich leapt.
His katana slashed through Shani's abdomen, ripping through flesh and muscle. She screamed, collapsing to her knees, clutching her stomach as blood soaked into the tiles.
Kuros roared, swinging wildly in rage.
Aldrich parried once—twice—then let Kuros's momentum carry him forward. Aldrich grabbed Kuros's wrist, pivoted, and redirected the force so violently that Kuros slammed face-first into a stone pillar.
The crack of bone echoed.
Kuros fell to the ground, stunned.
Aldrich didn't hesitate.
He plunged his katana into Kuros's chest, twisting until the assassin's breathing stopped. His hand went limp. His eyes dulled.
Shani crawled across the ground, leaving a trail of blood, trying to reach a fallen blade.
Aldrich walked behind her—calm, unhurried.
She rolled onto her back, face pale, breath ragged.
"You… demon…" she gasped.
Aldrich didn't reply.
He drove his blade through her throat, pinning her to the ground of Nophilis.
Silence drowned the courtyard.
Aldrich stood there for a moment, letting the fury simmer down to a steady, deadly heat. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the violent release of nine years of rage.
When he lifted his gaze, he saw the Saelari clan manor.
Still standing.
Still intact.
Still bearing the emblem of the clan that had destroyed his life.
Aldrich walked toward it.
With flint, oil, and the blood-soaked cloth of the patriarch, he set the building ablaze. Flames raced through the wooden beams, swallowing the manor in a roar of fire and light. Smoke curled into the night sky, and sparks drifted upward like dying stars.
Aldrich stood in front of the burning clan, watching it collapse in waves of fire.
His voice was steady.
Cold.
Absolute.
"If I have to make the whole world my enemy to get my revenge… then so be it."
The flames reflected in his dark eyes.
"I, Aldrich Yagurah… son of Taro… will burn this world too."
He turned.
And walked away into the night.