Claire lay in pain, clutching her broken arm, her mother's sword resting by her side. Before her stood the mysterious young man who had just saved her life. Rain poured down, soaking his jet-black hair — as dark as the night that now embraced them both — while behind him, a majestic golem loomed, standing tall and silent, guarding the scene like an ancient sentinel.
"Answer me, girl. Are you a disciple of the Cult of the Crimson Dragon?" he asked once more.
His voice was gentle, yet carried the weight of command — soft, but unyielding.
Claire could not utter a reply, overwhelmed not only by the searing pain in her arm but also by the presence of the stranger before her. The question hung in the air, unanswered.
"Who… who are you?" she finally managed to say.
The agony lacing her words, her throat distorting the sound as if it could no longer carry her voice with strength.
The stranger brought his scythe closer, its gleaming edge now threatening the vulnerable line of Claire's neck.
Then his eyes shifted, drawn to the sword at her side. He knelt to pick it up, running his fingers across the blade with a reverent curiosity. Claire instinctively tried to stop him, but deep down, she knew: any sudden movement could be the end of her.
"I see now," he murmured, examining the weapon. "You bear a moonlight blade — exquisite and powerful."
A beat passed before he continued, lowering the weapon slightly.
"It seems I was too hasty. My apologies."
The young man's words took Claire by surprise.
She exhaled in relief, attempting to rise — but the searing pain in her arm chained her to the ground, forcing a cry of agony from her lips.
"This hurts… too much!" she exclaimed.
The young man stepped closer.
"Allow me to examine your arm," he offered, his voice laced with a courtesy so refined it startled Claire even more than his presence.
Trembling slightly, she nodded in consent.
The stranger knelt beside her and gently reached for her arm. As he did, Claire finally got a clearer look at his face — a face that struck her as both strong and beautiful, sculpted with quiet grace.
His emerald-green eyes gleamed like twin diadems, precious and radiant, capturing her gaze with ease.
"Your arm is broken in three different places," he informed her calmly. "It will take me a moment to heal it."
But as he lifted his eyes to hers again, his breath seemed to catch.
Her sapphire gaze met his, and for a moment, the world stilled. He found himself lost in the deep halo of her stare, as though spellbound, unable — or perhaps unwilling — to look away.
"Is it going to hurt?" Claire asked hesitantly.
Still caught in the trance of her eyes, the young man didn't respond.
Claire noticed it at once and flushed, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
"Excuse me… are you listening?" she said, her voice soft but insistent, trying to break the strange silence that had settled between them.
The young man lowered his head in a shy attempt to hide the warmth rising to his cheeks.
"No… it won't hurt. Please, allow me," he replied gently.
"What's your name?" Claire asked.
He lifted his gaze once more, those vivid green eyes locking with hers. He seemed enchanted, as if her beauty had woven a silent spell he could not — or would not — resist.
"Shin! Shin Greenwood is my name," the polite young man answered.
"I'm Claire Sigrid. Thank you… for saving me," she said with a faint smile — a smile that only deepened the color in Shin's cheeks.
"Well… it's a pleasure, Lady Claire," Shin responded with a smile of his own.
This time, it was Claire who turned away, flustered by the sudden softness in his expression.
Shin then began the healing ritual, and Claire watched in wonder as the grotesque angle of her broken arm slowly began to shift and realign.
The pain, once overwhelming, melted away as if it had never been there.
"There. All done, Lady Claire. Your arm is as good as new," Shin declared with quiet satisfaction.
Claire tested her arm, swinging it up and down, side to side. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and a bright, joyful laugh escaped her. She sprang to her feet, invigorated.
"How did you do that so quickly?" she asked, still in awe.
"I simply used my mana to reinforce the link between your vital essence and your mystic conduit," Shin explained.
Claire blinked. Her expression froze — utterly perplexed. She hadn't understood a single word of his explanation.
"All right," the young woman said with a sly smile, raising a brow.
"I suppose I ought to return this," Shin replied, lifting her sword and offering it back with a respectful gesture, his expression tinged with remorse. "Forgive me for the way I confronted you earlier."
"You don't mistrust me anymore?" Claire asked as she took the blade and slid it carefully into its sheath.
"That sword belongs to the Legions of Averford — I recognize the emblem and the sheen of its edge," Shin replied without hesitation. "Are you a risen Legionnaire?"
Claire's gaze shifted to the majestic golem, who stood silently behind Shin. The great creature inclined its head in a courteous gesture — a greeting that caught Claire by surprise. She hesitated, then offered a shy nod in return.
"I'm trying to become a Legionnaire," she answered softly. "My parents once were… and I wish to follow in their footsteps."
"And you?" she asked, her tone curious but now tinged with something deeper. "Who are you, really, Shin Greenwood?"
Shin's expression changed at once — the kindness in his features faded into something quiet and enigmatic. His eyes, moments ago warm and open, now seemed to hide entire worlds behind their emerald light.
The sudden shift struck Claire like thunder in her chest. What's happening to me? she wondered, feeling her heart pound as though it sought escape. Is it… him? Could it be that I like him?
Her fingers drifted to her cheek, which felt strangely warm despite the rain that still fell around them. It should have cooled her — but instead, a different fire stirred beneath her skin.
"This encounter was never meant to happen, Lady Claire," Shin said, his tone laced with quiet weight.
"What do you mean? You saved my life — if it weren't for you, I'd be lizard food by now," Claire replied, giving him the heroic credit he deserved.
"What is a young woman like you doing in Threnafell, at this hour of the night?" Shin asked, his voice now firm, almost cautious.
Claire hesitated, uncertain if she should answer.
"You didn't come here alone, did you?" Shin pressed.
"No… My brother and a few other hunters are here as well," she responded.
Without another word, Shin turned away, walking toward his towering golem. Claire, startled by his sudden silence, followed after him, a cloud of confusion weighing on her thoughts.
"Wait! Don't leave me here alone," she called out, her voice chasing after him. "Why won't you answer my questions?"
"Lady Claire," Shin finally said, his back still to her, "please… do not tell anyone you saw me here tonight."
His request only deepened her confusion, and her curiosity flared all the more. She stepped closer, too close — and Shin tensed at her nearness.
A strong wind swept through the rain-soaked forest, wrapping around them like a living thing.
It lifted their hair in swirling motions, as if nature itself had paused to acknowledge their presence, to choreograph a dance of fate beneath the downpour.
And in that brief, fateful breeze, Claire saw them — pointed ears, half-hidden beneath Shin's dark, wet hair.
Her eyes widened in awe, and she instinctively stepped back.
"What are you?" she whispered, her voice both awestruck and cautious.
Shin remained silent. Perhaps he didn't know how to respond. Or perhaps… he simply wasn't ready.
Part of him longed to vanish into the labyrinth, to disappear without another word. But deep within, something held him there — a quiet voice of honor that refused to abandon her in this place.
"You're an elf… aren't you?" Claire asked again.
Shin remained silent, offering no answer.
Beside him, his golem extended a massive hand, inviting Shin to climb aboard and resume his path through the labyrinth.
As he stepped onto the palm, Shin turned slightly and extended his own hand toward Claire — an unspoken invitation to join him.
Hesitant but compelled, Claire reached out and took his hand. The moment her fingers touched his, a strange sensation bloomed within her — warm, fluttering, unfamiliar.
What is this…? It feels like butterflies. What in the world is happening to me? she wondered, startled by her own emotions.
As the golem lifted its arm, Claire lost her balance. With swift reflexes, Shin caught her by the waist, pulling her gently toward him.
The contact sent another rush of fluttering heat through her chest and stomach, far more intense than before. Blushing furiously, she instinctively clung to his shoulders for support.
For a heartbeat, they looked like a couple caught in a dance beneath the rain — their bodies swaying in rhythm with the golem's careful, steady gait.
"Lady Claire," Shin said softly, "forgive me for touching you so suddenly and without permission. I just didn't want you to fall and hurt yourself because of me."
His words only deepened the warmth spreading across her face. Her thoughts spiraled.
What is wrong with you, Claire? Since when do you act like this? Do you actually like him? You don't even know what he truly is…
The golem, with grace that belied its size, lifted the two of them high onto one of the labyrinth's towering walls. Shin stepped down first, then offered his hand once more to help her descend — this time with deliberate care. And as her feet touched the stone, he remained beside her, unwavering.
"I am an elf, descended from the ancient bloodline of Greenwood — one of the noble houses of the once-great Kingdom of Aldelviewreld," Shin said solemnly. "I see honor and strength in you, Lady Claire. That is why I choose to trust you now."
Those words etched themselves into Claire's mind. No one had ever said something like that to her — no one except Montecristo, Kiett, and Margott.
She had fought long and hard against herself, against her own doubts and the silent fear of conflict, even though she had always been the first to raise her voice against injustice.
Claire Sigrid had trained relentlessly — with grit, with discipline, with unwavering resolve — to earn the respect of the realm.
That was why she had become the most talented swordswoman in the academy. Yet her sweat and tears had earned her little more than envy from those around her. And now, this stranger — this young elf — had seen that strength in her at a glance. To Claire, it felt as though he had stripped her soul bare with those beautiful green eyes that refused to look away from her.
"Why do you say such things? How can you even see that in me?" she asked softly, though inside, her heart bloomed with an inexplicable joy.
"Lady Claire," Shin said, his voice calm but resolute, "if you can keep my secret… I promise we will meet again."
"Earlier, you asked me what I was doing here," Claire said, stepping forward. "Now tell me — what about you? Why are you here? And… what is that creature?" she asked, pointing toward the towering golem.
Shin didn't answer right away. He simply smiled and took a few quiet steps toward her, stopping just inches from her, his presence both calming and disarming.
"Lady Claire," he repeated, "if you promise to keep my secret… I will find you again."
Claire hesitated — then placed her hand over her heart. "I promise," she said, her voice firm but tender.
"Thank you," Shin replied, his tone soft as rain. "Now walk in that direction — you'll find the exit to my labyrinth there."
Claire's eyes widened. "Your labyrinth?" she echoed in surprise.
But she had no time to ask more. In one swift motion, Shin jumped from the wall — and he fell, caught safely in the waiting hands of the golem below.
By the time Claire looked down looking for Shin, he was gone.
Still bewildered, Claire obeyed his final words. She turned and ran, searching for her brother through the winding paths of the Labyrinth. But no matter how far she went, her heart refused to slow its beat. Despite the cold and the relentless rain, her face burned red with warmth… and she could not stop thinking of the green eyes of her mysterious savior.
—Elsewhere in the Labyrinth—
In another section of the twisting labyrinth, Kiett ran with all the strength his legs could muster, the thunderous footsteps of the Scarlets echoing close behind. A swarm of the monstrous creatures pursued him relentlessly. With powerful leaps and sharp turns, he spun mid-air and unleashed a flurry of slashes from his new sword — each arc larger, faster, and more devastating than anything he'd summoned before.
This newfound might surged from the spiritual bond he had formed with the blade — a bond sealed with his own blood in the solemn ritual at Montecristo's home.
Three Scarlets fell beneath his relentless strikes, their thickened, unnatural skin resisting blow after blow until finally yielding. But it took far too many slashes to bring them down. Spotting a narrow opening, Kiett seized the chance to counterattack.
Without hesitation, he invoked his original spell — God's Hand.
From his back, a colossal hand of mystic energy erupted, glowing with divine force. It surged forward and crashed down, crushing two Scarlets beneath its weight in a single, thunderous blow.
The others halted, momentarily stunned — but only for a moment. Then they retaliated, unleashing streams of blazing blue fire from their jagged maws. Kiett reacted instantly, raising the immense spectral hand as a shield to block the infernal breath. The flames clashed against the shimmering energy, hissing and writhing as they tried to force their way through.
But he had misjudged the tide of battle. More Scarlets arrived, joining the fray. Their scorching breaths surrounded him, cutting off all routes of escape and eliminating any chance for a second counterstrike.
"Damn it… I'm trapped. How the hell do I get out of this?" Kiett thought, heart pounding as the blue flames closed in.
"Need a hand?" a voice called out from atop the labyrinth wall.
It was Arata — he had found the young swordsman.
"Sir Arata!" Kiett shouted, relief and surprise mingling in his voice.
"Hang in there, boy — for your own sake!" the hunter called back with fierce resolve.
Without hesitation, Arata drew several of his daggers and hurled them with deadly precision at the Scarlets. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the blades exploded violently, sending shockwaves through the air and tearing a good number of the beasts apart in a storm of blood and fire.
Then, with both swords drawn and gleaming under the stormy sky, Arata launched himself into the fray. The three remaining Scarlets — stunned but not broken — turned to face him.
"Festmahl des Jägers," he chanted, his voice low and steady.
What followed was a blur of motion. With speed so blinding it seemed almost supernatural, Arata descended upon the creatures like a shadow given form. His strikes were swift, precise — and utterly merciless. Their hardened flesh offered no more resistance than warm butter beneath the bite of his blades. In mere seconds, the beasts lay in pieces at his feet.
All the while, Kiett remained where he stood, God's Hand still summoned, his eyes closed in concentration.
"You're safe now, kid," Arata said, his tone firm but calm.
Kiett let the glowing hand dissolve into the ether, his shoulders sagging with relief.
"Thank you… truly, Sir Arata," he said, breathing heavily.
"Don't thank me," Arata replied, his gaze sharp as steel. "Just get stronger — for your sake… and your sister's."
Arata was scolding Kiett harshly. His tone was sharp, his words heavy with the weight of truth. The boy's recklessness had nearly cost him his life — relying far too much on protective spells and not enough on his skill as a mystic swordsman.
"Are you a swordsman or a Sentinel? Make up your damn mind already, boy!" Arata barked.
His reprimand was justified — every word rang with precision, cutting into Kiett more deeply than any blade.
"I'm trying to become stronger, Sir Arata… and I know I will," Kiett replied, defiance flickering in his voice.
"Do you really believe that?" Arata shot back. "Then tell me — what would you have done if I hadn't shown up when I did?"
Kiett faltered. His face reddened with shame, and he couldn't bring himself to answer. He simply lowered his gaze, silent.
"Exactly," Arata snapped. "You'd be dead. Montecristo was wrong to bring you here."
He turned away, clearly frustrated, and began walking once more through the winding stone paths of the labyrinth.
"I'll have words with that old man. He is going to wish he was dead when i find him," Arata muttered grimly as he passed Kiett's right side, unable — or perhaps unwilling — to look at him.
Kiett stood frozen, unable to form a response. His silence said everything — it was an admission of failure, and it gave Arata full claim to the truth.
"Well? You planning to stand there forever?" Arata called over his shoulder. "Let's go. We've got to find the exit."
Then, with a glance that held more concern than he would ever admit, he added, "And think about what I said. You must get stronger."
Kiett followed behind him, his steps hesitant, uncertain. The young hunter, now focused again, scanned every corner of the labyrinth as they moved — searching for cracks, for footholds, for anything that could help them scale the walls. He had lost his grappling hook in his first encounter with the still-uncategorized Scarlets, and he wasn't about to be caught unprepared again.
"Sir Arata," Kiett said, breaking the heavy silence between them. "Why didn't you ever try to become a Legionnaire instead of a hunter?"
Arata took the boy's question in stride, his expression calm.
"Kid… not everyone dreams of becoming a Legionnaire — not then, and certainly not now," he replied.
His words carried a quiet weight, steeped in something older than frustration. There was a hint of nostalgia in his tone, as if Kiett's innocent question had unlocked an old, dust-covered chest in the back of his mind — a chest filled with memories shaded in grey… and in black.
"You need to understand something," Arata continued. "Patriotism is a lie. Once you die, the world forgets you — history will erase your name within a few years."
There was no bitterness in his voice. Only truth, stripped bare.
"You'd do better to stop asking questions like that… and pray your sister's still alive," he added bluntly.
Kiett felt something stir in his chest — not resentment toward himself, nor guilt for his own choices. No, this emotion was directed toward Arata, and it wasn't anger. It was sorrow. For the first time, he saw past the hunter's hardened shell. Beneath his sharp tone and unmatched skill lay a man who, despite his talents, seemed to carry a quiet loathing for himself — a sense that no matter how powerful he became, it would never be enough to matter.
The two pressed onward in silence until they reached a dead end. A wall of stone, unbroken and absolute, barred their way.
"Damn it — I hate labyrinths," Arata muttered, spinning on his heel.
With no other choice, they began retracing their steps.
"Kiett, look for an outcropping," Arata ordered. "We'll need something we can use to climb to the top of the wall!"
"Sir Arata, I've got something better than that!" Kiett called out with enthusiasm.
Arata turned, about to ask what he meant — but before he could utter a word, he was caught off guard by Kiett's original spell. A surge of energy lifted the hunter's body and carried him upward, placing him neatly atop the towering wall.
Startled and clearly annoyed, Arata looked down at Kiett with narrowed eyes.
"Don't ever do that without warning me again, boy!" he barked, pointing at him as a sharp reprimand.
But Kiett only grinned, pleased with himself.
"Still think I shouldn't have come along?" he teased.
"Don't push your luck," Arata muttered. "You've got talent, sure — but if you don't use it right, you'll end up selling smoke and nothing else."
Kiett ignored the jab, though he could tell Arata was more annoyed than truly angry.
They both turned their eyes toward the horizon. All they could see was darkness. Rain fell steadily, the droplets bouncing against the cold stone of the labyrinth walls. The place stretched endlessly in every direction, an oppressive maze of shadow and silence. No sign of life, no movement between the endless corridors.
"Where do you think the others are?" Kiett asked.
Arata didn't respond at first — silence, as if he were deliberately ignoring the question.
Then, suddenly, the wall beneath their feet trembled with a violent jolt.
"What was that?" Arata snapped, his voice instantly alert.
They ran toward the edge and peered down into the passage below — and there it was.
A Scarlet. But not just any — this one was massive, far larger than any they had faced. It was slowly scaling the wall, clawing its way upward with terrifying resolve, its eyes locked on the two boys, hunger gleaming in their monstrous depths.
Without hesitation, Kiett raised his hand and summoned a roaring sphere of fire. With a cry of defiance, he hurled it down at the beast. The explosion was immense — flames devoured the air, and a shockwave of heat and wind blasted outward, rattling the stones and smothering the passage in thick, black smoke.
"I wiped it out with a single strike. What do you think of that?" Kiett said proudly, puffing his chest.
"That was pure luck," Arata replied dryly. "Considering the size of that thing, you should count yourself fortunate it worked."
Before Kiett could reply, a voice rang out from beyond the wall — clear, familiar, and full of relief.
It was Claire.
She had found them.
"Kiett! Brother, are you all right?" Claire cried from across the wall.
"Sister! Thank the gods — are you hurt?" Kiett called back, his voice filled with relief.
"I'm fine, but… I don't know how to get across!" she replied, her tone laced with worry.
Arata scanned the surroundings, searching for a way to bridge the gap between them. Kiett, overjoyed to see his sister alive and unharmed, had lowered his guard — his focus lost in the sound of her voice.
Then, from within the thick cloud of smoke, the Scarlet leapt.
Its clawed arm shot forward, striking Kiett with brutal force. He was standing too close to the edge — and with a cry of pain, he tumbled from the top of the wall, falling violently over fifteen meters to the ground below.
"Kiett!" Claire screamed, terror gripping her voice.
Arata had let his guard down as well. He immediately reached into his cloak, searching for one of his daggers infused with negative mystic energy — but they were gone. Every last one.
"Damn it — Kiett!" Arata cursed, racing forward. He drew his swords and unleashed a flurry of slashes toward the dragon, but the creature deflected them with a sweep of its razor-sharp claws.
"Bastard!" Arata growled, his frustration boiling over.
Below, Kiett groaned in pain, lying on the cold, unforgiving ground. As he turned over, he saw it — the massive Scarlet, closing in fast, its fangs bared, hunger gleaming in its eyes.
But before it could reach him, Claire moved.
Without a second thought, she leapt from the top of the wall, her sword gleaming in her grip. With a cry of defiance, she plunged it into the creature's neck, driving the moonlight blade deep into the center of its skull.
The Scarlet thrashed violently, roaring in agony. With a brutal jerk, it flung Claire from its back — and she slammed into the stone wall with a sickening crack.
She fell hard, motionless, the impact stealing the breath from her lungs. The Scarlet turned toward her, its attention now fixed on the fallen girl.
Kiett rose to his feet with determination blazing in his eyes. With a swift motion, he unsheathed his flame-forged blade — the sound of steel ringing out like a war cry. The sheer force of it caught even Arata off guard, and the Scarlet turned its attention toward the young swordsman.
Kiett charged straight at the beast.
"Roter Dolch!" he chanted.
The crimson edge of his sword ignited with a brilliance so fierce it nearly blinded those who looked upon it. In response, the Scarlet unleashed a torrent of scorching fire. Kiett summoned his original spell, God's Hand, wrapping himself in the massive protective energy of the divine construct. The flames roared, but Kiett pressed on, shielded as he closed the distance between him and the monster's gaping jaws.
Then, with a fierce upward swing, he shattered the upper mandible of the dragon. The beast shrieked in fury, and Kiett leapt into the air, aiming to deliver the finishing blow.
But the Scarlet struck back — one of its massive claws slammed against his sword with brutal force, hurling Kiett backward like a ragdoll.
The creature gave him no time to recover. It lunged again, relentless in its hunger. Mid-flight, Kiett twisted his body and flipped through the air. With a flick of his left hand, he summoned a flurry of ice spikes, launching them into the dragon's hide. They pierced its flesh, embedding deep — but even then, the Scarlet would not stop. Its burning core was so hot that the ice began to melt the moment it sank into its skin.
Realizing the direct assault was futile, Kiett rushed in once more. He faked left, then sprang right, maneuvering with agile precision. With a pair of swift, calculated strikes, he slashed through the beast's front limbs — severing tendons and bone.
But the dragon's tail came crashing down with brutal force.
It struck Kiett square in the chest, sending him flying like a comet through the air — straight toward the place where Claire lay unconscious.
"Claire, wake up! I need you — Claire!" Kiett cried, shaking his sister's shoulders with urgency. The tremor in his voice broke through the haze of unconsciousness, and Claire stirred.
"Kiett… did I kill the dragon?" she asked weakly.
Kiett smiled, but there was no joy in his expression. His eyes, wide with fear, and the tense line of his brows betrayed the truth — there was no peace, no relief. Only dread.
"We're in trouble, Claire. I need you — now more than ever!" he said, desperation woven into every word.
Claire gritted her teeth, reached for her sword, and, with Kiett's help, rose to her feet.
"Kids! You've got to get back up here — now!" Arata shouted from atop the wall.
But the two siblings remained frozen, their eyes fixed on the impossible scene before them.
The Scarlet was regenerating — its severed limbs twisting, re-forming with unnatural speed. And worse… two more dragons, identical in shape and monstrous size, emerged from the shadows behind it.
"Run!" Arata roared.
Kiett and Claire didn't hesitate. They turned and sprinted, hearts pounding, feet crashing against the stone as the three beasts thundered after them. Arata raced along the top of the wall, shouting directions, guiding them through the endless maze below.
"Damn it, where the hell are the others?" he growled, running like a man possessed, eyes scanning for any sign of their allies.
"Kiett," Claire shouted between gasps, "we can't keep running forever. It's either them… or us. We kill them here — or we die!"
Kiett glanced at her. Despite the fear in her eyes, her gaze burned with fierce resolve. She wasn't giving up — she was pleading with him to trust her.
"You decide, sister. I'm with you — you and me, against the world!" he declared.
"Then get ready, brother!" Claire shouted, her grip tightening on her blade.
They both stopped in their tracks and turned to face the monsters, preparing for the inevitable clash.
"What the hell are you doing?! Run, you idiots!" Arata shouted from above, but it was too late — the dragons had caught up to them.
"Himmlischer Brustpanzer — Obsidian!" Claire chanted.
A surge of dark, celestial energy enveloped her body, forming a sleek obsidian armor that shimmered with power. Kiett's eyes widened in astonishment at this new phase of his sister's original spell.
"You read that part of the book, huh?" he said, clearly impressed.
"That's right," Claire smirked. "Surprised?"
"I've got a few tricks of my own," Kiett replied with a grin.
Claire launched herself into the air with a powerful leap, positioning herself above the dragons with perfect control.
"Nordwindklingen!" Kiett invoked, and his blade was instantly wrapped in swirling strands of wind magic. He dashed forward, dropping low and sliding beneath the beasts with practiced grace.
From above, Claire came crashing down, her blade carving through the skull and neck of one of the Scarlets with a thunderous strike. At the same time, Kiett sliced clean through another dragon's torso from below, his wind-blade humming with elemental force.
The siblings were a whirlwind of destruction — coordinated, ruthless, unstoppable. From atop the wall, Arata watched, stunned.
"I may have judged that boy a little too quickly…" he muttered, unable to hide his amazement.
"Arata! You all right?!" a voice called out.
It was Alistar — he'd heard Arata's shouts and managed to locate him.
"Alistar? How the hell did you find me?" Arata called back, momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of his old ally.
"Well, you were screaming like a madman — that's how," replied the master hunter, Alistar, arriving with Elle by his side, visibly exhausted.
"What are you doing up here? And who the hell were you yelling at?" Alistar asked.
Arata motioned for them to approach the edge of the wall. When they peered down into the clearing below, both Alistar and Elle froze, eyes wide with disbelief.
Kiett and Claire had wiped out the Scarlets that had been hunting them — completely, and without aid.
"Just the two of them? Alone?" Elle asked in awe.
"That's right," Arata confirmed, shaking his head. "I still can't believe what I witnessed. The raw talent in those two is… unreal."
"How in the hell did Montecristo train them like that?" Alistar exclaimed.
Down on the path, Claire and Kiett were catching their breath, laughing between gasps of exhaustion and exhilaration — their victory still burning in their blood.
"That was incredible, brother! How did you pull that off?" Claire asked, eyes gleaming with admiration.
"And you — you enhanced Himmlischer Brustpanzer!" Kiett replied. "The way you dropped from the sky and tore them apart — that was insane!"
The siblings beamed at one another, praising the scope of their newfound abilities — all of which had come from studying The Tales of the Wanderer, a legendary book considered essential reading for aspiring Sentinels. Yet, through their experience, it had become clear: those with heightened physical aptitude could unlock even greater depths from its teachings.
"Look at them!" Elle exclaimed. "They're so happy… they haven't noticed the Scarlets are still moving!"
At her final words, Arata and Alistar turned to her in horror.
"What… did you just say?" Alistar muttered.
Elle seemed to realize what she'd just revealed a moment too late.
"Shit!" she gasped, eyes wide with dread.
Down below, Kiett and Claire were cheerfully scanning the area, searching for a way to climb the wall — still basking in the thrill of their victory.
"Kids! Get back! Now!" Arata shouted, panic breaking through his voice.
The Sigrid siblings turned slowly, their smiles fading as they heard the sickening squelch of flesh moving — reanimating. The torn bodies of the dragons began to writhe grotesquely. Their blood, viscous and blackened, moved like sentient membranes, slithering toward the scattered remains of their fallen kin.
In slow, nauseating fashion, the steaming masses of muscle and gore began to merge — fusing into something unnatural, monstrous. The abominations that had once been three separate Scarlets became one colossal, hideous beast. It loomed upward until it reached nearly halfway up the labyrinth walls, its deformed body steaming, pulsing, and oozing with power.
Then it roared — a guttural, nightmarish sound that shattered the stillness of the maze.
And with its roar came fire.
The monster spewed a torrent of blazing blue flame toward the Sigrid siblings.
Without a second thought, Kiett threw himself in front of Claire, summoning God's Hand to shield them both. The divine construct blazed to life, absorbing the hellish fire — but it wasn't enough.
Claire, refusing to stand idle, wrapped her arms around her brother from behind and summoned Himmlischer Brustpanzer — Obsidian, trying to reinforce their protection.
But the blast was too strong.
The sheer force of it slammed into them, sending their bodies flying backward. They crashed into the wall behind them with devastating impact — shattering stone, splintering wood. The barrier collapsed under the blow, and tons of debris rained down, burying the siblings beneath the rubble.
Their bodies disappeared beneath the crumbled remains of the wall — crushed, entombed.
The monstrous dragon let out a deep, guttural growl and slammed its massive tail against the earth, triumphant. Then it turned its grotesque head toward Arata, Elle, and Alistar — the last three left standing — frozen in place.
"Now… it's your turn." The dragon spoke.
Its voice was impossibly deep, distorted, inhuman — and yet it spoke.
For the first time in history, a Scarlet had spoken… and the sound of it chilled the hunters to the marrow.
TO BE CONTINUED…