CHAPTER 63: BARON LAXIN IV

Its eyes burned emerald, but within them flickered Laxin’s own cruel gaze. His voice thundered, layered with monstrous echoes.

"Now, prince... now, Soul Lord... let us see if your lives can withstand death made flesh!"

The Death Colossus moved. Each step shattered the earth like an earthquake. Its hand, formed of corpses fused into clawed fingers, came down with the weight of a mountain.

Fenric shouted an incantation, golden glyphs spiraling around him as he dragged power from the depths of his vast Mana Sea.

"Luxa Seln! Thar Seln!"

A double-layered shield of light and stone erupted above him, just in time to intercept the crushing blow. The ground cracked, the air screamed, and Fenric’s knees buckled as the shield shattered like glass. He was hurled back, tumbling across the battlefield, blood spraying from his lips.

"Fenric!" Aria’s voice cut sharp through the chaos. Her scimitars gleamed obsidian, both engulfed in ravenous black soul-flame. She dashed forward, her body flickering between shadow and fire, each step faster than the eye could follow. She leapt onto the Colossus’s arm, slashing in a frenzy. Each cut left trails of flame that consumed bone and sinew alike.

But the Colossus only laughed with Laxin’s voice. "Futile!"

Its other hand lashed out, backhanding Aria. She was hurled like a ragdoll, crashing through stone and rubble, her blood smearing across the battlefield.

Fenric staggered upright, wiping crimson from his lips. His eyes narrowed—not with despair, but with resolve. "No... I won’t let this end here."

He lifted his arms, and the Dragon Grimoire in his Mana Sea pulsed with light. Words in Dragon Tongue thundered from his lips, each syllable bending reality itself.

"Raen Drath! Solv Torah! Veyl Vana! Zyraath Torahl!"

Flame, water, and wind spiraled into a colossal dragon construct of pure elemental fury, its body wreathed in lightning. The spectral beast roared and hurtled forward, slamming into the Colossus’s chest with catastrophic force.

The battlefield exploded in light and shadow. Dust and bone fragments filled the air. The Colossus reeled back, chunks of its grotesque form exploding away—yet the shadow-stuff reknit itself almost instantly. Laxin’s laughter echoed again.

"Pathetic, prince! Your power is vast, but death devours all!"

The Colossus leaned down, its gaping maw of skulls opening wide. A torrent of pure death energy surged forth like a tidal wave, black and green, dissolving everything in its path.

Fenric raised glyphs of defense—but before the wave hit, a figure blurred into place. Aria, blood streaming down her face, arms trembling, stood before him. She slammed both scimitars into the ground, black soul-flames erupting skyward to form a spiraling dome.

The death wave crashed into it. The ground melted, the air screamed, Fenric’s hair whipped wildly as the pressure bore down. Aria screamed with the effort, her knees sinking into the soil, flames roaring higher with each heartbeat.

But the barrier held.

Fenric’s eyes widened. She was pouring her very soul into it.

When the wave finally ceased, Aria collapsed to one knee, panting, flames flickering weakly around her."Fenric... don’t waste it. Strike him—now!"

Fenric’s hands trembled, then steadied. His silvery-white hair glowed faintly in the storm of magic. He lifted both arms, Dragon Tongue spilling from him like a litany.

"Noct Drath! Luxa Torah! Raen Veyl Zyraath!"

Light and darkness, fire and wind, converged. A colossal dragon of twilight and flame emerged, its wings half radiant, half abyssal. Its roar tore through the night like divine judgment.

It soared at the Colossus, its claws raking across its chest. The abomination howled, shadow-flesh boiling away, leaving Laxin’s true form partially exposed within.

Aria pushed to her feet, staggering. She leapt again, her scimitars a blur. She carved through the gap Fenric had created, black flames cutting deep into the exposed Laxin. For the first time, Laxin screamed in genuine pain.

"You insects!" His voice boomed. The Colossus’s arm lashed out, piercing through Aria’s side. Blood burst from her lips as she was lifted into the air, impaled.

"ARIA!" Fenric’s scream shook the battlefield.

Aria smiled faintly, blood staining her teeth. Her eyes locked onto Fenric’s. "Do it... now... end him..."

She raised her scimitars one last time, plunging them deeper into the Colossus’s flesh, flames consuming it from within.

Fenric’s heart clenched, but his soul roared. He summoned every drop of his vast mana, his body burning with power. His Dragon Tongue reached its crescendo, every word vibrating the heavens.

"Zyraath... TORAAHL!"

The twilight dragon above them expanded, swallowing the sky. It dove like a falling star, wings wrapped in flame and void. With a roar, it slammed into the Colossus, ripping it apart in a cataclysm of light, flame, and shadow.

The explosion shook the battlefield for miles.

Silence followed. The Colossus was gone—shredded into nothing. Laxin’s body fell from the disintegrating remains, charred and broken, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Fenric stood amidst the ruin, his body broken, arms trembling, blood running down his face. His magic had nearly emptied him. He staggered forward.

Aria lay on the ground, pale, blood pooling beneath her. Yet her eyes flickered open, faint but alive.

Fenric dropped to his knees beside her, voice breaking. "You’re not dying. Not here. Not now."

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "I told you, Fenric... I am death. How can I die easily?"

And with that, the battlefield was silent, save for the distant settling of ash.

Fenric exhaled sharply, chest burning with exhaustion, but his hands never faltered. The silvery-white glow of his Mystic Moon Rapier, its cleansing flames, spread across the battlefield. The once-bloody ground hissed as it devoured corruption, purifying the lingering filth of Death energy.

Aria lay beside him, battered, her breaths shallow. He extended his palm, letting the radiance wrap around her body like a gentle cocoon. Her wounds knit closed, color returning to her cheeks as she stirred faintly.

For the first time in the battle, Fenric’s eyes softened. "Rest. I’ll handle the rest," he whispered, his voice a quiet promise.

Then his gaze snapped upward, cold and razor sharp.

Laxin was staggering, blood dripping from the deep cuts carved into his body during their clash. His smirk, though shaky, still carried arrogance.

"You think this is over?" Laxin coughed, his voice ragged. "I may fall... but the undead will rise. You can’t stop what’s coming, Fenric. You’ll drown in my army, hahahaha—!"

Fenric stood slowly, his aura surging higher with each step. His healing flames coiled behind him like divine wings, illuminating the ruins of the battlefield. His silvery hair shimmered, his shadow stretching long across the broken earth.

"Undead?" His voice was steady, resonant, carrying a gravity that silenced the air. "You never even had the chance to summon them. And now... you never will."

Laxin’s laughter broke into a cough as Fenric appeared before him in a single stride. His sword gleamed, infused with refined moonlight mana.

"Your death... ends here."

The blade swept in a single, decisive arc. The battlefield echoed with the ringing sound—then silence.

Laxin’s mocking grin froze on his face as his head slid from his shoulders.

His body collapsed, but Fenric did not let it fall freely. With a swift incantation, he sealed the corpse into his storage artifact, his eyes narrowing. Do you really think I don’t know about your resurrection ability? he thought coldly. That little trick only works if your body is left exposed. Not this time.

Turning back, his expression softened once more. Aria was awake now, struggling to sit up. She met his gaze, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came—only the faint shimmer of relief in her eyes.

Fenric knelt, sliding an arm beneath her carefully. "Save your strength. We’re done here."

The flames of his Mystic Moon Rapier spread once again, cleansing the last stains of battle as he carried her toward the distant walls of the Imperial infirmary. Soldiers who had hidden during the fight now peeked out, trembling as they witnessed the young prince—bloodied, radiant, victorious—walking through smoke and ruin with Death’s chosen foe slain behind him.

Though Fenric’s body ached with every step, he kept moving forward. Victory was his—but it hurts.

"Fix it all," Fenric ordered, his voice sharp as steel. The command lashed out at the battered knights nearby, who flinched but scrambled to obey. He could not truly blame them—compared to himself and Aria, they were but fragile blades of grass caught in the storm.

Most had fought as best they could, but against Lanxin’s overwhelming might, their efforts had been little more than sparks in the dark. Several lay unconscious, others bleeding heavily despite the healers rushing between them. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burned flesh, clashing with the faintly sweet aroma of the healing salves already being applied.

Fenric’s eyes lingered on them for only a moment before he softened his tone—barely. "Do not falter now. Gather yourselves. Support the healers."

The knights bowed their heads, shame written across their weary faces, yet also relief—relief that the prince had survived, relief that they had not been abandoned.