The world fell silent, broken only by crumbling stone and his ragged breaths. His chest heaved; his pulse thundered in his head. Roschella's trembling frame clung to his back.
Lucien turned slightly. A werewolf's claws hung inches from her. Blood streaked the frozen wall, bodies impaled on jagged ice. The rest of the beasts stood motionless, frozen mid-charge.
If not for the hole in the wall leaking Mana, they would already be dead.
Lucien's brows knitted. What's wrong with this place?
It was just a spell, yet the Mana consumption was three times higher.
Shoving the thought aside, he asked over his shoulder, "Are you alright?"
She didn't answer, only trembled against him. Her fear was understandable—she must have screamed when the werewolf lunged.
Gradually, her trembling eased, and she stirred.
"Don't look back," he warned softly. The sight was too gruesome.
Before she could respond, footsteps pattered in the distance, reminding him this wasn't over.
"Hold tight."
As she obeyed, Lucien slipped through the crack and raised a stone barrier behind him, sealing the corridor without breaking stride. His footsteps and ragged breaths bounced off the tunnel walls.
When mist crept inward, pressure built within his Reservoir, and Lucien realized—it was Leyline, a natural force that distorted the flow of Mana.
Werewolves and a Leyline. Fantastic.
He couldn't afford to spam his magic now that Mana consumption had become unstable.
A faint rush of water echoed in the distance, growing louder as he pressed on. Ahead, the passage opened into a wide cavern, faint light spilling through an opening beyond.
Just as they passed the threshold, Lucien leaped back—
A massive monster crashed down where they had stood. The beast—wolf-like with horns and razor claws—glided across the ground to face them.
It growled and lunged.
A glowing blade of ice flashed into Lucien's hand. He swung in a single arc—blood sprayed as the sword cut through the creature midair before it crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
Without slowing, he dashed toward the light ahead.
Guttural growls rose from both sides. Ten monsters surged toward them.
A magic circle flared above, unleashing ten serpentine winds. The air whistled; crimson burst as they pierced skulls. Several fell, but others wove between the blasts—four still charging straight at them.
Lucien skidded to a halt and set Roschella down. "Run ahead!"
She hesitated, then obeyed. As she rushed toward the light, Lucien cast blades of ice around her, spinning in a protective orbit.
Padded footsteps closed in. Lucien whirled just as the monsters leapt—his sword flashed, cleaving the first. He rolled aside when another struck, rising to meet it with a slash.
One sprang from the left, slamming into his jagged ice shield. Another charged head-on—Lucien fired an ice spike, and blood erupted as it lanced the creature's heart.
A blur streaked at the edge of his vision. Lucien twisted, swinging his blade, but its claw grazed his hip before his strike split its chest open.
Breathing hard, Lucien lowered his sword, but the thunder of footsteps snapped his head up. More wolf monsters were coming.
He turned and sprinted, muttering a spell under his breath. A vast magic circle flared beneath his feet, and a towering wall of earth surged upward, blocking the path behind him.
When he reached the cavern, the roar of rushing water filled his ears. Roschella stood at the cliff's edge, a powerful waterfall cascading below. She turned, worry etched across her pale face.
Lucien glanced down—roughly a fifty-foot drop.
A deafening explosion shook the ground. The wall gave way; monsters poured through the swirling dust, closing fast.
"Let's go."
He pulled Roschella close and jumped. A barrier flared around them as they plunged into the water below.
…
With an earsplitting blast, the massive earth wall burst apart. Dust and debris filled the air as wolf monsters surged forward, claws scraping against stone.
"Halt."
The single word cut through the chaos. The creatures froze mid-charge, heads snapping toward a large tree to the right. A tall, broad-shouldered man with short blond hair dropped from the branches. His tanned skin stood out against the black attire clinging to his frame.
"Disperse," he ordered.
The monsters exchanged uneasy glances, then scattered into the dungeon's shadows.
"You," the man called, pointing at one that lingered. "Come here."
The creature padded over obediently. The man swung onto its back, his gaze flickering from the cavern to the distant stone structure.
"Let's meet Father."
At a tall stone wall, he dismounted and flexed his muscles before hurling his fist. The wall crumbled with a loud crash, dust and debris scattering to reveal an office where a blue-haired man sat on a couch while a white-robed woman trimmed his hair.
Caelum sighed at the sight of him, asking wearily. "Mind telling me why you're punching through the wall, Zieg?"
The man merely chuckled and stepped through the hole. "Shortcut."
Caelum massaged the bridge of his nose. "That doesn't justify it."
Zieg settled across from him and shrugged nonchalantly. "This place is in ruins anyway."
"It's done, Father," the woman interjected, stepping back.
Caelum's expression softened. "Thank you, Mary."
She bowed and excused herself. As the door clicked shut, Zieg regarded him with his wry smirk. "Tell me, wasn't it centuries ago you last had short hair?"
Caelum sighed for a second time, unimpressed. "My hair was burnt. Not exactly a laughing matter. How's the prince?"
"I let them escape, as instructed." Zieg leaned against the couch, crossing his legs and arms. "All we need to do is let them run into his brother's minions in the forest—the ones I lured in, correct?"
Caelum nodded. "Yes."
"But still…" Zieg frowned, his gray eyes darting across the room. "Three days and two nights—isn't that a bit too fast for him to escape? He even blew up your fort."
"That just proves how capable the prince is." Caelum set a parchment on the table. "Your next mission."
Zieg unfolded it, a brow arching. "In the middle of the sea?"
"Yes." Caelum inclined his head. "Stall for as long as you can."
Zieg exhaled through his nose and rose to his feet. "Very well."
With that, he took his leave.
…
The barrier enveloped Lucien and Roschella a heartbeat before impact. The water slammed against it, a crushing weight that made his ribs ache.
Bubbles burst around them, blue light rippling through the depths. Lucien flicked his hand—water surged beneath, propelling them toward the bank.
Dispelling the barrier, he offered his back. "Get on."
She climbed up, and Lucien ran despite the ache in his lungs. Branches clawed at his clothes, mud sucked at his boots, and the forest swallowed all sound but their ragged breaths.
Nevertheless, the farther he pushed on, the more his lungs burned and his wound seared. Sweat rolled down his skin, and a lightness crept into his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he found no pursuers.
He slowed to a stop and gently set Roschella down before turning to her. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, her breath uneven.
He wiped the sweat from his chin. "We can rest here for a bit."
At her brief nod, Lucien approached a nearby tree and leaned heavily against it.
He lifted his cloak—and froze. Blood soaked through his left side. Beneath the torn fabric, a long but shallow cut stretched across his waist.
Of course.
The monster's claw must have been laced with venom. That would explain the burning in his lungs and the creeping fatigue, even though his Mana and Aura remained intact.
He stripped off his cloak and unbuckled his leather vest, tearing the sleeve of his tunic.
"Ah!" Roschella gasped, rushing to his side, eyes wide at the blood staining his waist.
"It's alright. I'm fine," Lucien said, pressing the cloth to his wound.
She turned away and lifted her skirt. The tear of fabric reached his ears. A moment later, she faced him again, holding out a strip of her petticoat and pointing to his injury.
Lucien arched a brow. "You're offering that as a bandage?"
She nodded earnestly.
He sighed and reached for the cloth. "You didn't have to go that far for me…"
She could just say it—
His hand stilled midair. A frown creased across his brow as memories flashed—back in the cult's hideout, during their escape—she hadn't uttered a single word. Not even a whisper.
"Lady Roschella…" His pulse hammered against his ribs. "…have you lost your voice?"
Her smile faltered. She lowered her head, fingers clutching the hem of her dress, and gave the smallest, broken nod.
Lucien's free hand raked through his hair. His fingers curled tight, tugging until his scalp burned. Fury flared in his chest like wildfire.
As if the death of his knights wasn't enough, he'd now ruined a noble lady's life.