Chapter Fourteen: The Price of Victory

The battlefield was reduced to ruins.

Smoke coiled through the air, carrying the scent of blood, sweat, and fire. The once-thriving village of Riverend was barely standing, its streets littered with bodies, its homes reduced to burning husks. The remaining Blackfang warriors had fled, their will shattered by Alex's awakening.

But one man still stood.

Vaelin Korr.

He was no ordinary warrior. His Ascended Rank Essence surged around him, a dark, storm-like aura coiling from his blade. Controlled, refined, deadly.

Before him, Mira and Roderic stood their ground.

Alex lay unconscious behind them.

The weight of battle pressed upon them, but neither Mira nor Roderic backed down.

There was no retreat.

Vaelin smirked, flicking his sword, his Essence crackling like black lightning.

"You've both impressed me," he mused. "But this is where it ends."

And then he attacked.

Roderic barely raised his greatsword in time before Vaelin's blade of abyssal steel came crashing down.

The impact sent a shockwave tearing through the battlefield, kicking up debris and splitting the earth beneath them.

Roderic dug his heels into the dirt, veins bulging as he pushed back against Vaelin's sheer force.

But Vaelin was faster.

Before Roderic could fully deflect, Vaelin twisted his blade, redirecting his weight and slamming his knee into Roderic's gut.

Roderic coughed blood, staggering back.

Vaelin didn't stop.

He lunged forward, his sword radiating black Essence, carving through the air with inhuman precision.

"Severing Void!"

His signature move—a downward, lightning-fast cut that ignored armor, slicing through anything in its path.

Roderic had one second to react.

And then—

Something snapped inside him.

For the first time in his life, his Essence surged beyond its limits.

His entire body trembled as a new power erupted within him, his once-heavy Essence transforming into something sharper, stronger, faster.

He had ascended.

Rank Three: Ascended-Class Knight.

His mind sharpened. His sword felt lighter in his hands.

And he moved faster than he ever had before.

His blade met Vaelin's mid-air, not in defense, but in a counterattack.

"Iron Tempest!"

A brutal, sweeping arc—his sword roared through the battlefield like a whirlwind, slamming into Vaelin's blade with raw force.

For the first time—Vaelin was pushed back.

Roderic landed, his breath ragged, his heart pounding.

But he wasn't ready.

His newfound power was still unstable, his body not yet accustomed to the increased Essence flow.

And Vaelin knew it.

The mercenary captain laughed, rolling his shoulders. "So that's what this was about," he mused. "I was wondering when you'd break through."

His smirk faded, his expression turning deadly serious.

"But it's still not enough."

He rushed forward, his Essence condensing into something denser, heavier. His blade darkened, turning into a weapon of pure slaughter.

"Abyssal Rend!"

A black crescent of pure destruction burst from his sword, tearing through the battlefield, aimed directly at Roderic's chest.

Roderic's eyes widened.

He couldn't dodge.

He couldn't block it fully.

There was only one choice.

He moved his arm.

The attack struck.

A flash of searing pain.

Blood sprayed into the air as Roderic's arm was severed at the shoulder.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream, his Essence pulsing violently as he staggered back.

Mira's breath caught.

He had sacrificed his arm to create an opening.

And she knew what that meant.

She had one chance.

Vaelin saw it, too.

But he was too late.

Mira's entire Essence sharpened, condensed, and then—

She vanished.

Her body became a streak of darkness, her Essence coiling around her like a phantom's embrace.

Her speed surpassed anything she had ever achieved before.

Vaelin barely had time to turn—his sword halfway raised—

But Mira was already there.

Her daggers hummed with deadly precision, the air around her silent, suffocating, deadly.

"Shadow's Requiem."

It was her strongest technique—an attack that harnessed every ounce of her Essence into a single decisive strike, delivering death in the most absolute form.

Vaelin's eyes widened.

He had no time.

Her daggers found his throat.

One pierced through the side, the other slid deep across his windpipe, severing flesh, bone, and vein in a single motion.

Blood burst from the wound, his body convulsing.

His sword fell from his grip, embedding itself into the dirt.

Mira landed behind him, her blades dripping with crimson, her breath shallow.

Vaelin staggered, his hand reaching for his torn throat, his fingers trembling.

A choking sound escaped him—half a laugh, half a gurgled breath.

His knees buckled.

And then, he fell.

The infamous Vaelin Korr—the Blackfang's leader, the Ascended warrior —

Was dead.

Silence.

Mira stood still, her body trembling from the sheer amount of Essence she had expended.

Roderic collapsed to one knee, his severed arm bleeding freely, but his expression was calm.

The battlefield was quiet.

The remaining Blackfang warriors—those who hadn't yet fled—watched in horror.

Their leader was gone.

Their morale shattered.

And then—

They ran.

The last remnants of the Blackfang army turned and fled, vanishing into the distant forests, their will to fight utterly broken.

Mira exhaled, finally lowering her daggers.

They had won.

But at what cost?

She turned, her gaze falling on Alex's unconscious form.

The boy who had unleashed the abyss.

The one who had changed the battlefield with his mere presence.

A new force had been born.

And the world—

Would never be the same again.