CHAPTER 267: CHAPTER 267 - ONE SINGLE STRIKE!!!

The night trembled.

From the skies above the burning forest, the shrieks and laughter of cultists echoed like the cries of the damned. Their black banners waved beneath the dying light of the World Tree, its sacred glow smothered by the red haze of blood and flame.

Below, hundreds of them danced in madness—mages weaving corrupted spells that scorched the air, their energies twisting into grotesque shapes as they aimed at the sky.

High above that chaos, the Kunpeng soared through the smoke. Its massive wings shimmered with silver-blue light, scattering the darkness for fleeting moments. Upon its back stood the last of the Dark Elves—tired, wounded, but unbroken—as they gazed down upon the sea of corruption below.

Luca stood at the forefront, his coat torn and blood-soaked, strands of dark violet hair drifting in the cold wind. His eyes—crimson and unwavering—cut through the night like twin blades of fire.

Kunpeng’s wings beat once, lifting them higher until even the flames below looked small. The moon loomed vast and silver behind them, its light spilling like liquid over the clouds.

"It’s enough," Luca said quietly.

The great beast rumbled in response, leveling its flight. The wind fell still for a heartbeat.

And in that stillness—Luca stepped forward to the beast’s crown.

The scene looked almost unreal: a man standing against the full moon, coat fluttering, blades gleaming faintly in either hand. Blood traced down his arm, dripping onto Kunpeng’s feathers and vanishing into starlight.

Below, the cultists continued to scream and chant, their voices swelling like a tide of madness. But the sound no longer reached him.

He closed his eyes.

One single strike.

That’s all I have left.

The air around him began to ripple. The ground far below vibrated as his aura surged, gathering and compressing—dense, wild, unstoppable. The sabers in his hands pulsed with light, responding to his will.

A faint tremor ran through the elves behind him.

Sylthara gripped the edge of Kunpeng’s feathers, her eyes widening as she felt the pressure envelop them—an overwhelming force, sharp and divine.

"W-What is this..." she whispered.

From above, moonlight gathered—threads of silver descending like celestial rain, drawn to Luca’s form. It wrapped around him, swirling, bending, until his entire figure glowed with ethereal brilliance.

A forbidden art born from Rolph Dragonair, meant to sever corruption and creation alike.

Luca’s breath slowed. His body trembled from exhaustion, yet his will only sharpened further. He raised both sabers—one dark as night, the other radiant as moonlight—and whispered,

"One slash... deaths of hundreds."

Then his eyes snapped open—blazing crimson beneath the silver glow.

He leapt.

For an instant, his silhouette eclipsed the moon itself, a black shadow spreading its wings across the sky as he spun in the air.

"MOONSLAYERRRR!"

The world shattered with that cry.

A blinding arc of silver cleaved through the heavens, slicing through clouds, air, and space itself. The wave expanded outward, circular and perfect—a silent storm of death descending upon the earth.

The cultists looked up too late.

There was only a single sound—the whisper of the wind being torn apart.

Then—silence.

A heartbeat later, the land exploded into motion. A shockwave surged outward, flattening trees, snuffing flames, and scattering ash like snow. The corrupted mages vanished in the light, their bodies erased in an instant.

When the light faded, the battlefield was no longer a battlefield. It was a grave.

Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, their blood flowing in rivers across the scorched ground. Some were torn in half, others reduced to fragments. The summoning sigils carved into the earth had been obliterated, burned away by the moon’s divine light.

And then—silence again.

No screams.

No laughter.

No movement.

Only the faint rustle of wind brushing over the dead.

High above, Luca fell back onto Kunpeng’s head, the strength leaving his body. His sabers clattered beside him, faint wisps of silver light fading from their blades.

Sylthara rushed forward, catching him before he could collapse fully. His breathing was shallow, his aura nearly extinguished.

"Luca!" she called, her voice trembling.

He managed a faint smile. "That... should’ve killed them all."

She looked past him, her golden eyes widening as she took in the devastation below. The entire cultist horde—gone. Not a single one left standing.

"That must have destroyed the summoning circle as well," she said softly, disbelief and awe mingling in her tone. "They won’t be able to summon more of them..."

Luca nodded weakly, his gaze drifting toward the faintly glowing roots of the World Tree. "Good..." he murmured. "Then let’s go back. To Senior Elowen... and the Elf Queen. They’ll need help now."

For a moment, Sylthara didn’t answer. Her expression shifted—relief giving way to something heavier, darker. Her golden eyes, once alight with victory, now flickered with hesitation.

Luca noticed immediately. The battlefield below reflected in her eyes — the silence, the blood, the devastation. But behind it, something else lingered. A buried ache. A conflict she couldn’t name.

Luca exhaled, leaning back slightly against the Kunpeng’s feathers. That look... he thought. I don’t know what history poisoned the bond between the dark and light elves, but it runs deep.

He turned to her. "You saw it for yourself," he said quietly. "How it once was... the past between your kin and theirs."

Sylthara’s lips parted, but no words came. She simply nodded, her jaw tightening, her gaze lowering. The moonlight caught the shimmer of her tears before she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"It’s important," Luca said, his tone firm yet gentle. "If we’re going to save the Mother Tree, this divide can’t stay."

He turned his head toward the horizon, where flashes of light still tore through the darkness. Fire, lightning, ice — the battlefield below was still alive, still screaming.

"Kunpeng," Luca ordered softly. "Take us there. Fast."

The great beast let out a low, resonant cry, its wings spreading wide. In an instant, they were gliding through the night sky like a silver comet. The wind howled, carrying the scent of blood and ozone.

And then—

In less than a minute, the chaos below came into view.

The light elves and Luca’s companions fought desperately amid the carnage.

Kyle’s azure spear cut through the darkness, each thrust exploding with waves of water and lightning. Aurelia danced beside him, her crimson spear blazing like a comet as she tore through lines of cultists, her every movement a flare of rage and beauty.

Selena stood farther back, her eyes cold and unblinking as ice and thunder coiled around her hands, her spells slicing through the enemy ranks like storms given form.

Lilliane was surrounded by swirling sigils of every color — earth, fire, water, wind, even ice and thunder — her control razor-sharp despite the exhaustion etching her face.

And Vincent... his blade gleamed with silver fury, carving through the corrupted flesh of cultists without hesitation.

All around them, light elves fought valiantly, but their numbers were thinning fast. Some screamed as they fell, others kept fighting with missing limbs, driven only by duty and despair.

Sylthara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes glimmered with something between anger and guilt. "Enough," she whispered — then shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos like thunder.

"All dark elves! Aid them! Protect the wounded—cut down any cultist that still draws breath!"

Her kin hesitated for a heartbeat — exchanging uncertain glances, faces twisted with unease. But one look at their princess’s expression — the fire in her eyes, the conviction in her tone — was enough.

Without another word, they leapt from the Kunpeng’s back. Arrows of violet mana and blades of shadow rained down as the dark elves joined the fray. For the first time in seven thousand years, the children of shadow and the children of light fought side by side again.

As Sylthara helped Luca down from the Kunpeng, she still felt the tremor in his arm — his strength nearly gone, his mana drained dry. "You shouldn’t be moving," she muttered, supporting him as his boots hit the bloodstained ground.

He gave a faint, tired smile. "We don’t have time to rest."

With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed Kunpeng back into the beast space. The night seemed quieter without its wings beating overhead.

They began walking toward the rear of the battlefield.

Senior Elowen stood there, bloodied but still guarding, her bow raining arrows. Behind her, the Elf Queen sat upright, her breathing steady, her eyes closed as she concentrated on restoring her strength.

Luca thought, It seems the elf queen has somewhat recovered, that’s good.

When she sensed their approach, Elowen turned — and her eyes widened.

"Luca?" she breathed, disbelief flashing across her face.

The Elf Queen’s eyes opened slowly. Sharp, ancient, unyielding — eyes that had seen centuries of pain and sacrifice. She looked directly at them, and Luca could feel the weight of her presence pressing against the air, which puzzled Luca as he thought why is she looking with such a sharp gaze?

Then he realized — that gaze wasn’t meant for him.

He turned slightly... and saw Sylthara.

Her golden eyes had gone cold, hard — her entire body trembling, fists clenched so tight they shook. The air between them felt heavy, thick with something unspoken but alive — grief, betrayal, rage.

Luca exhaled quietly. So this is it, he thought. The first meeting between the two bloodlines after seven thousand years... and this time...it’s definitely not as sisters.