Tessara had joined the battlefield.
She stood still only for a moment before her voice cut through the noise, sharp and cold as the edge of a blade. "I'll handle as many Crogs as I can. Focus on the ones I leave behind."
The soldiers roared their acknowledgment.
From the courtyard, Icariel saw the blur of her movement. "She'll handle that side now," he muttered, breath still jagged.
Calven stepped beside him, watching the assassin disappear into shadows. "With Lady Tessara handling that side… our worry now is the other portal—by the residences, near the square." He glanced at the sky. "And I pray the Warleader and His Highness finish the one who started all this… before the rest falls apart."
Icariel tilted his head to the heavens.
They were still clashing.
Above the clouds, Virethiel and Aelar fought the invader—a black silhouette amidst divine radiance and wrathful mana. The sky shook with each collision of blade and spell.
Meanwhile, Eldrin and the soldiers surged forward. With renewed morale, they struck back, their silver-armored forms cutting through the enemy like lightning over a dry plain. Eldrin's spear was a storm on its own, lancing through Crogs without pause.
A shriek came from above.
A Crog lunged behind Eldrin—
—but it was sliced mid-air. Blood scattered like red petals.
Floon landed beside him, the sword already bloody.
"Vice-Leader," Eldrin said, grinning through grit and sweat.
"You got up fast, Royal Captain," Floon replied.
"I had no other choice."
Floon raised his blades, barking orders. "Squad One, reinforce Eldrin! Squad Two, tend to the wounded and protect the civilians!"
The soldiers obeyed, their polished armor catching what little sunlight pierced the battle-smoke.
Eldrin turned to Floon. "We've got this now. You should send troops to the castle. They need the help more than we do."
Floon nodded once. "Don't worry. The calmest woman I've ever known woke up… and she was mad. She'll end it."
A memory struck them both—
Flashback:
They had been running toward the capital. Tessara was limp on Floon's back, barely breathing. The capital's silhouette burned ahead, smoke rising from homes and screams bleeding into the air.
Floon's eyes widened. "Soldiers—forward! Something's wrong. Move!"
The elves picked up speed.
Then—
"Let me go," Tessara whispered, voice like cracked ice. "I'll take care of it."
Floon turned his head, stunned. "You finally awoke?"
She nodded weakly. He stopped running. The rest surged past them.
She slid off his back. Her cloak was in tatters. She tore a strip from the edge and tied it over her mouth and nose.
Floon looked into her eyes. "Who did this to you?"
The veins in her face pulsed, her usually flawless skin cracked with rage. "A piece of shit who doesn't care about his own people. I'll see you there."
In a blur, she vanished toward the castle.
Back in the present, Floon exhaled slowly as he cut down another Crog.
"I've never seen her that angry… not since we were kids."
"Let's end this nightmare," Eldrin said.
"Together."
Tessara was a shadow reaping nightmares. Her blades whispered death. The Crogs died before they realized they'd been touched. Heads rolled. Limbs danced. Blood painted the cobblestones in silence.
Behind her, the soldiers cleaned up what little she left behind. The tide was turning.
And in the sky above…
The invader was still smiling.
He hovered above the capital's heart like a curse too stubborn to die. Aelar and Virethiel circled him in perfect unison, but their attacks found nothing but resistance.
"Is this all you've got?" the invader mocked. He gestured to his shoulder, where a small cut—barely more than a scratch—bled lazily. "This is the best your bloodline can do? While your people die beneath you?"
They clashed again—
Mana thundered. Lightning fractured the sky. Winds howled, thick with rage. The heavens themselves looked ready to collapse.
But they were slowing. The invader clearly had the upper hand since the beginning. Each of their parries was more desperate. Their dodges closer to failure. Blood leaked from Virethiel's lips. Aelar's aura flickered.
Then—
They broke apart, floating some distance from one another, panting.
The invader looked down.
The world below was changing.
"…Why is it so quiet all of a sudden?" he muttered.
And indeed, the screams had lessened. The Crogs were dying faster than they could spawn. The noise of death… had been replaced with silence.
The invader turned his gaze to the ground.
Not toward Aelar. Not toward Virethiel. Not toward the two warriors who'd spilled their strength and defiance across the skies.
No.
He was staring below.
"What is he doing?" Virethiel murmured, her tone sharper than steel.
The invader's eyes gleamed with something unhinged—detachment. He had stopped caring about them.
"He's ignoring us," Aelar said, breath catching in his chest. "Something's changed."
Below, the battlefield was quieting. The portals had closed.
But their aftermath still soaked the earth in carnage.
Aelar followed his gaze. So did Virethiel. And then their backs stiffened like blades of frost.
"What…?" the invader muttered, his voice thick with disbelief.
The first battlefield—toward the square where Eldrin, Floon, and the soldiers fought—was still burning with the light of resistance. The Crogs, despite their overwhelming numbers, had been repelled. The elves were not just surviving. They were winning.
The second front—near the castle gates—was littered with Crogs, their corpses torn apart with surgical precision. In the center moved Tessara, alive. The invader's lip curled.
"She's alive?" he hissed. "I left her breathing dust back in that wretched village… How?"
But that wasn't what turned his breath to ash.
The third site.
Where he had thrown a portal meant for one. A boy. The boy who had blocked his strike. The boy who had killed his insider—the same boy, he'd heard, who had defeated Grinis as well.
Icariel.
What he saw there shattered the foundation of his plan.
A crater drenched in Crogs' blood. The remains of hundreds stacked upon themselves, unmoving. Not a single one had escaped the moment of crossing. All sliced in half and dead.
A few meters from that mass grave, six figures stood. One was kneeling, struggling for breath like he had pulled air from beneath a grave.
"It was him…" the invader muttered. His aura shimmered, dark orange and violent.
His lips twitched with fury.
Everything had gone wrong.
The Crogs meant to be distractions had failed. The portals meant to flood the land had closed. The Tree of Life—still out of reach.
And once again, the same thorn: that human boy.
Aelar, now staring, felt something inside crack.
"They're handling it," Virethiel said softly, her voice like a flicker of dawn. "They're… holding the line."
She turned to look at him.
"Our people are winning."
Aelar nodded. A small smile formed.
"Incredible."
"We don't need to worry about them anymore."
"No." His hand gripped the hilt of his blade. "Which means we end this now."
He turned toward the invader.
But he froze.
The invader's body ignited.
Not with fire—but rage.
A corona of dark orange flame burst around him. Veins bulged like cracked stone, crawling across his face and limbs. His expression twisted into something savage.
He wasn't looking at Aelar.
He wasn't looking at Virethiel.
He was looking down.
Down—at the boy.
Down—at Icariel.
Aelar's stomach dropped.
"No…" he whispered. "He's going to—"
The invader clenched his teeth, venom on his tongue: "Even if this all fails… I'm killing the one who made the failure possible."
FWOOM.
A blast of raw energy burst from the invader's back as he shot downward like a falling god. The clouds curled and screamed in his wake.
"Icariel!" he roared—an oath, a curse, a scream.
Aelar surged after him, wings of mana splitting the sky.
"Stop him!!" he howled.
Virethiel blinked, realization crashing down like thunder.
"He's going to kill Icariel!"
But the invader was already descending.
Faster than thought.
Faster than prayer.
Like judgment.
[End of Chapter 66]