Chapter 40
The silence after the storm was almost cruel.
Wind swept across the shattered battlefield, carrying with it ash, blood, and the scent of scorched earth. Crimson fragments of Ryun's broken aura still hung in the air, like fading embers after a wildfire.
Ezra's sword—what remained of it—crumbled to dust in his hand.
His legs buckled.
He staggered forward a step.
Then another.
Then stopped.
The fight was over.
His mana was gone. Not low gone.
Every reserve spent, every shred of energy burned through.
His body screamed in protest with every breath he took.
The glowing white in his eyes dimmed. His vision blurred at the edges, colors bleeding together like melting paint. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, growing fainter with every pulse.
He was falling.
But before the darkness claimed him, he remembered—
His trembling hand drifted up—slowly, like lifting a mountain—with fingers brushing against the worn silver band on his finger.
Ren Kurogane. His master.
