CHAPTER 43: THE BATTLE

The clash of steel and magic echoed through the chamber, a cacophony of chaos that seemed almost alive. Sparks flew as blades and spells collided, and the very stone beneath them shuddered.

Royal guards met the armoured cultists head-on, their discipline and training forcing the enemy into brief moments of retreat, before the sheer difference in numbers pushed the tide to a more equal footing.

Edward’s eyes swept across the battlefield, tracking the shifting lines of battle.

Flames erupted from the mage at the left flank, hissing as they met blasts of water from another. Wind tore against the walls of rock, and elemental forces tore the chamber apart in miniature storms, the air thick with the scent of ozone and scorched stone.

The heat that pressed against his skin was suffocating, and every crack of thunder and flash of light left his pulse hammering faster by the second. Even the echoes of dying screams blended with the noise, weaving the chamber into a suffocating symphony of war.

Seraphine was no longer at the backline as a passive observer.

She moved like a conductor of arcane fury, her staff thrumming with power. Purple lightning surged along its tip, cascading in arcs at the oncoming horde of attackers.

Purple sparks struck armour and stone, leaving sizzling trails in their wake. Her hair whipped around her face as she twirled, her eyes glinting with concentration.

Edward caught himself staring for a heartbeat. He had always seen Seraphine as cheerful, even a little too playful—but now she moved with the same resolve as the soldiers around her, each burst of lightning striking with relentless precision.

The same couldn’t be said about his summons, as they began to falter under the heavy onslaught. The Shadow Soldiers, once efficient against robed cultists, found themselves overpowered against these armoured figures. Each strike from the cultists’ steel left a black stain on their forms, shredding limbs and cutting through shadow with terrifying ease.

[Shadow Soldier had been eliminated.]

[Shadow Soldier had been eliminated.]

[Shadow Soldier had been eliminated.]

Three of his soldiers had fallen almost instantly, leaving the battlefield feeling suddenly emptier, their absence an unnerving void in the midst of chaos. Edward’s chest tightened at the sight.

But before he could dwell on that sudden change on the battlefield, a sudden whistle snapped his attention to his back.

He pivoted and raised his dagger, and steel clanged sharply against steel, ringing hard in his ears.

Before him was a man with a grin that twisted his face into something cruel. His armour, polished and dark, opened at the chest, revealing a pact mark etched in an intricate pattern. It dwarfed the one Edward had seen on Seraphine, radiating a sinister energy that made his stomach tighten with unease.

But he had no time to dwell on its size as the man moved once more. Each of his strikes was fast and precise, a blur of movements cut through the air toward him. Edward barely managed to deflect one attack, feeling the force jolt up his arm. His dagger was too short and too light to counter the strikes effectively.

Frustration began to coil in his chest.

Then—a swift whistle of steel through the air, a precision strike that carried the weight of authority and experience. The attacker’s head rolled across the stone floor, thudding heavily as silence briefly cut through the chaos.

Prince Arthur had stepped forward.

His presence was commanding, filling the battlefield with a radiance that demanded attention.

His armour and weapon gleamed with a golden yellow light, motes of his mana floating freely around him. He was of the Yellow Stage.

He didn’t speak, he simply nodded once toward Edward before moving through the enemy lines with fluid precision, every swing of his blade cutting down cultists as if he were slicing through shadows.

Edward didn’t linger either.

"Extract"

A shadowy figure materialised from the corpse of the fallen attacker.

[Shadow Warrior]

But Edward’s eyes didn’t linger on the new summon.

Instead, his gaze swept toward the backline, where four figures hunched over, their hands weaving elements into life as they cast spells toward the battlefield.

Without hesitation, he sent both Shadow Warriors and the Shadow Striker into the enemy’s backline. The shadows dissolved into motion, striking the mages with lethal intent.

Simultaneously, one of the Royal Guards, wielding a halberd, dashed into the backline. The mages attempted to disperse, but they reacted far too late. Three of the mages fell under the royal guard’s strikes, unable to even weave a single spell, while the three summons took down the last mage.

Edward moved forward, his arm stretching outward as another mental command left his lips.

"Extract"

Shadows stirred once more, coalescing into a new figure.

Flames erupted in a swirl of orange and black as the Shadow Fire Mage came into being. Its arrival was instantaneous, and without a delay, it joined the battle. Flames tore across the battlefield, searing armour and igniting the very air around the cultists. The mage’s presence forced them to scatter, fracturing their formations and shifting the tide of the battle.

Edward’s thoughts raced with commands. Every summon moved as an extension of his will—Shadow Striker darted between foes, the Shadow Warriors engaged in brutal duels, and the Shadow Fire Mage turned the battlefield into a war-torn inferno. He felt the tide beginning to shift in their favour.

Chaos had turned into something more controlled, until—

Edward’s eyes widened at the sight before him.

Two of the oldest, most seasoned Royal Guards lay motionless, their armours shattered and bloodied, the gleam of life extinguished completely.

Above them stood a lone, menacing figure.

His bald head gleamed under the torchlight, his arms fully covered in jagged scars, and a wicked grin split his face.

His gaze shifted—and then locked on a single target.

Edward’s stomach twisted as memories of the man Seraphine had warned him about resurfaced, along with the promise he had made to her—one he could not afford to break.

He followed the man’s gaze, and a sudden wave of dread washed over him as he realised that his target was none other than Seraphine.