Chapter 12: The Beginning Of The End_1

*****Three years later, after Ren and Ken's separation (The Present)******

In the heart of an uncharted forest, where the boundaries of reality blurred and nature's fury reigned supreme, a lone figure sat atop a mound of lifeless monsters. Clad in tarnished silver armor reminiscent of the legendary Knights of Camelot, the man exuded an aura of both nobility and decay. His armor, though once resplendent, now bore the scars of countless battles, its luster long faded beneath layers of grime and dried blood. The design featured intricate engravings of dragons and ancient runes, though many were obscured by the ravages of time and conflict.

Beneath him lay the grotesque remains of formidable foes: wyverns with scales dulled and wings tattered, their serpentine necks twisted unnaturally, holes bearing through their body. The wyverns- also known as the disappointment of the dragon race, they are born as a result of the dilution of dragon blood, usually from the lower ranks of the dragons. When a lower-rank dragon breeds with any monster, they produce wyverns. He then looked at the corpses in confusion; orcs with greenish skin marred by deep gashes, their crude weapons shattered beside them. The stench of death permeated the air, a pungent blend of iron-rich blood and decaying flesh.

-Something is wrong here-he thought. Orcs being here is expected, but wyverns? That should be impossible. Wyverns may be failures of the dragon race, but they are still dragon descendants. They should be in rocky areas, and worse, they are working with orcs. The pride of the dragon bloodline doesn't allow such coordination.

The surrounding forest was a realm of perpetual twilight. Towering trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted, reached skyward, their branches draped with veils of moss that swayed with the slightest breeze. The ground was a treacherous mosaic of mud, hidden pools of stagnant water, and patches of deceptive quicksand. The air buzzed with the incessant hum of mosquitoes and the distant croaks of unseen creatures. Occasional plops echoed as unseen denizens disturbed the water's surface. A thick fog wove through the trees, obscuring vision and muffling sounds, making the forest feel like an endless labyrinth.

As the man gnawed on the meat, he suddenly paused, his gaze lifting to the canopy where the last rays of the setting sun cast a dim, golden glow. His voice, though weary, carried a sharp edge.

"Can I know what an Archduke is doing here?" he inquired, not bothering to mask his irritation.

From the mist, a figure emerged, descending gracefully until he hovered just above the ground. An elderly man with smooth grey hair cascading around his shoulders, a few strands artfully covering a portion of his monocle. He was attired in a black tailcoat with satin lapels, a crisp white dress shirt, a neatly tied black bow tie, and impeccably pressed trousers. White gloves adorned his hands, and polished black shoes reflected the dim light filtering through the trees. His demeanor was the epitome of composed servitude.

"Sir, I believe it is time," the butler stated calmly, his voice smooth and devoid of emotion.

The armored man narrowed his eyes, a flicker of defiance igniting within.

"Did the Headmaster send you?" he asked, a hint of resistance lacing his words.

The butler, ever perceptive, sensed the surge of bloodlust emanating from the warrior. Though confident in his abilities, he couldn't help but acknowledge the rapid growth and formidable presence of the man before him. Touching down softly, his polished shoes barely made a sound against the damp earth. A glint of excitement flashed across his orange eyes, reflecting the remnants of daylight.

He coughed lightly, a subtle gesture to diffuse the tension, and offered a bright, almost disarming smile.

"It's almost time for your admission, sir," he reiterated. "The Headmaster has made it explicitly clear that you shouldn't miss this occasion. Otherwise, he would drag you there himself."

The armored man groaned, the sound resonating within his helmet, a mix of annoyance and reluctant acceptance. He began his descent from the gruesome throne, each step causing the heap of corpses to shift and settle. Upon reaching the base, he approached a sword embedded in the ground—a katana with an unassuming appearance, save for the intricate dragon inscribed along its blade. To the untrained eye, it was ordinary, but to him, it was a cherished relic. A final gift from the old man, apart from the letter.

He grasped the hilt firmly, pulling the blade free with a smooth motion. Holding it aloft, he gazed at it with a mixture of reverence and sorrow.

"The last gift the old man left me," he murmured, eyes reflecting the encroaching night. "I wonder how Ken is doing? Probably bullying someone else for his amusement". The thought of being subjected to his brother's antics sent shivers down his spine.

The forest around them seemed to respond to his contemplative mood. The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the moss and causing shadows to dance. The distant calls of nocturnal creatures signaled the transition from day to night. He had nearly eradicated all the monsters from this accursed place.

"I guess I have to cut off my precious streak, huh?" he mused aloud. As he pondered on a way to quell his lingering desire for battle.

Turning his attention back to the butler, his aura intensified, eyes glowing a deep yellow that pierced through the slits of his helmet. Without warning, he lunged with blinding speed, katana slicing through the space the butler occupied. But the blade met only air. The butler's form shimmered, leaving behind a halved mirage that dissipated like smoke.

"You have grown, sir," the butler's voice came from behind, laced with a hint of amusement. His face bore a cynical, almost predatory smile as he stood mere breaths away.

"You'll need more than that to best me," he added, placing a gloved hand on the armored man's shoulder, the gesture both reassuring and condescending.

-Interesting- The warrior tensed but refrained from further action. The butler's grin widened slightly.

"Anyway, get ready. I will clean up this forest and report back to the Headmaster."

"Damn it, do I have to go?" the armored man muttered, his voice carrying the undertone of a child reluctant to heed authority.

A bright smile appeared on the butler's face as he nodded affirmatively. 

The armored man groaned, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his katana. The last remnants of daylight had fully receded, leaving only the cold embrace of the night. The forest had transformed into an abyss of shadows and flickering lights, the phosphorescent fungi and eerie bioluminescent insects casting a ghostly glow upon the gnarled trees.

With each step, his boots sank slightly into the soft, damp earth. The wind howled like a mourning specter, rattling the twisted branches above. Pools of stagnant water rippled as unseen creatures stirred beneath the surface. Somewhere in the distance, a deep, guttural growl echoed—a remnant of the monsters still lurking within this godforsaken land.

The butler, ever composed, watched as the armored man walked toward the edge of the clearing. "You sulk like a child, sir," he remarked, adjusting his monocle. "And yet, here I thought battle-hardened warriors had outgrown such tantrums."

The armored man stopped. His head turned slightly, his glowing yellow eyes barely visible beneath his dented helmet. "...Did you just call me a child, old man?"

The butler let out a soft chuckle. "Merely an observation, sir. Though I must admit, I am surprised that with all your achievements—" he gestured toward the grotesque pile of wyvern corpses, some still twitching from the aftershocks of death, "—you still haven't learned the value of following simple orders."

The armored man scoffed, flicking his sword to the side, splattering the last remnants of wyvern blood onto the rotting ground. "And I'm surprised a butler is this talkative. Are you sure you're not just an over-glorified errand boy?"

The butler's smirk widened slightly. "Ah, but an errand boy wouldn't be capable of dodging that pathetic excuse of a sword swing you attempted earlier."

The armored man's shoulders stiffened. "Pathetic?"

"Quite," the butler nodded, feigning deep thought. "Sloppy. Predictable. I daresay even an amateur knight could have countered that."

The tension in the air thickened. The wind seemed to pause as if the very forest itself awaited the warrior's reaction.

Then—

A low chuckle.

It started deep in his chest, slow and measured, before escalating into a dry, almost sinister laugh. "Alright," the armored man muttered, cracking his neck. "Since you've got a death wish, I'll grant it."

Before the butler could respond, the ground beneath his feet cracked. A powerful gust exploded outward as the armored man shot forward, his katana gleaming under the moonlight. The blade cut through the thick air, the force of his movement sending leaves scattering in all directions.

But once again—he hit nothing.

The butler had vanished.

"Too slow," the voice whispered from behind him.

The armored man didn't hesitate this time. He twisted his body mid-air, swinging his katana in a horizontal arc, the sheer force of it creating a pressure wave that split the ground apart. Yet, his blade still sliced through only an afterimage.

A single leaf, caught in the air, drifted downward—before suddenly splitting in half from the residual force of the strike.

The butler reappeared several feet away, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened. His monocle gleamed ominously. "Impressive. You've improved since the last time we met, sir."

The armored man landed on the ground, his heavy boots cracking the surface upon impact. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. "If you're done running your mouth, let's settle this properly."

"As much as I would love to, sir," the butler said, bowing slightly, "I am on a schedule. You, however, have an appointment to keep. The Headmaster grows impatient."

The armored man clenched his jaw. A part of him wanted to continue. The thrill of battle—the adrenaline surging through his veins—made him crave another exchange.

But he knew the butler wasn't someone to waste words.

"Tch," he clicked his tongue in annoyance, finally sheathing his katana. The yellow glow in his eyes dimmed slightly as he turned away. "Fine. Have fun cleaning up this dump."

The butler smiled. "Oh, I will, sir."

As the armored man strode deeper into the woods, his figure slowly fading into the darkness, the butler remained behind, his eyes gleaming as he turned toward the remaining monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Now then," he mused, cracking his knuckles. "Shall we begin?"

The forest trembled in response.

And then, the slaughter began.