The air felt suffocating.
Alwen's eyes blinked rapidly, his question bursting forth from the depths of his soul...
"Is it really true, Ronan?"
Ronan stood still for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the ground like a guilty man. Finally, he sighed, nodded coldly, without any excuse.
That nod was like a sword stabbing straight into Alwen's chest.
The last line of defense in his heart, the simple faith that the person beside him had always kept his word over so many years, was nearly shattered.
He collapsed, his body trembling, his eyes filled with chaos.
The king stood silently, his eyes showing a mix of sorrow and regret, but no words could escape his lips. The courtiers, knights, and people around only gaped in shock, none daring to believe what had just happened.
Magnus smirked mockingly...
"You were always just a ragged street urchin. If not for my patronage, you would have died in that place long ago!"
He turned to look at Alwen.
"Alwen, you've always been in the palm of my hand. Everything you have now is thanks to my arrangements!"
Then he looked straight at Ronan, his eyes sharp like steel hooks tightening a noose around his neck with the offer...
"But I am generous. I'll give you a second chance. Forget all that nonsense called conscience, forget that ridiculous 'meaning.' Stand by my side, become my Demon Knight."
"But you must... deal with him right now!!"
Ronan stood motionless for a beat, Alwen staring straight at him, his gaze now deep and profound. The sword in Ronan's hand rose high above Alwen's head.
Magnus smiled triumphantly, Ronan's blade lowering gradually.
The people were enveloped in fear, preventing anyone from standing up.
Alwen's chest felt constricted, his eyes shrouded in deep darkness; he couldn't believe what was happening...
He couldn't believe that in the moment when he thought he could rise, it was swiftly extinguished.
He couldn't believe those brief moments left only ruins behind.
And he absolutely couldn't believe that the person who had followed him for so many years was just a finely carved wooden mask.
In his heart, he couldn't accept these things, but deep in that despair, he still harbored a flicker of faith... about something.
Ronan's mouth parted slightly... with a dry, raspy voice, speaking slowly.
"I once wanted to stand above those who trampled me,"
"I once wanted to become the strongest. I played the role, I disguised myself."
Ronan's eyes lit up strangely.
Magnus immediately stopped laughing.
He realized something was wrong.
But it was too late.
Ronan spun around.
The sword swung up so fast that eyes couldn't follow.
The steel blade sliced through the air—not toward Alwen, but at the weak point on Magnus's throat, right where the spear had once pierced.
The sound of the slash tore through the sky.
Rocks and dirt flew up into a massive dust column, enveloping the entire battlefield.
Amid the astonishment and disbelief of everyone, Ronan continued speaking in a low, whispery voice, with an astonishing calm.
"But I realized that... power only has meaning when used to protect, not to trample. I kept my promise, to someone who gave me a place to shelter..."
Ronan turned back to look at Alwen.
His hand extended slowly toward him, as if to pull up the frail prince from the past.
"'...if you are the prince, then I will be your support.'"
Ronan's words left Alwen stunned.
He remembered that day, the moment when the man who had cowered before thugs one minute, extended his hand to help him up the next... It seemed it really wasn't a mask...
He smiled... lightly, but brighter than any light.
His still-trembling hand quickly grasped Ronan's, accepting the hand from the one who had given him so many emotions—a supporter, a friend, or perhaps a brother...
In that moment, all sounds seemed to vanish: no more dragon roars, no more screams, no more labored breaths from the remaining soldiers.
Only two people, a prince and a traitor, standing amid a sea of ruins, holding each other's hands like a final promise.
Ronan bowed his head slightly, his breath forming a faint mist in the cold air.
"Thank you..." his voice was hoarse, trembling, but each word clear.
"...for believing in me... even just once."
That moment was strangely peaceful.
Alwen only managed a faint smile, grasping the extended hand.
A tight grip, as if afraid that letting go would make everything disappear.
Sinking into the stream of the past, those days when the shadows of two children always walked together, the months when two people were never separated...
*...*
"Consider that your answer!"
A strange voice rang out, low and hoarse, as if rising from the very depths of the earth.
Before either of them could turn, *shluck*—a jet-black spear pierced straight through Ronan's throat.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The light in his eyes faded in an instant; his body convulsed violently, breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
Alwen froze, dead still. The hand that Ronan had been holding—the one that had felt so warm moments ago—was rapidly growing cold.
"RO—NAN!!"
He screamed, lunging forward to catch him, but what appeared before his eyes turned his blood to ice.
From the massive pile of dust, Magnus regenerated in human form, the gash across his throat already healed by dark magic.
He was no longer the colossal dragon, but a warrior clad in obsidian crystal armor.
Streams of violet-black light flowed through the veins of the armor like living lava; his crimson eyes burned with madness and hatred.
"You chose to betray me…" His voice echoed like steel striking stone. "…Then die with that choice."
Ronan coughed up blood; his body stiffened and collapsed into Alwen like a domino toppling into the one in front of it.
Magnus, now a black knight stripped of all reason, coldly withdrew the spear before Alwen's eyes and the hundreds of terrified, cowardly onlookers.
His gaze swept over every living creature around him—cold, sharp, and merciless, like a verdict already written.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"
Magnus's laughter erupted suddenly, tearing through the air like a dull blade scraping across metal.
His face twisted into a grin so wide it seemed his jaw might rip apart.
The corners of his mouth curled to their absolute limit.
The laughter echoed from an abyss, sending chills down the spines of every creature within hundreds of meters.
Those dark, ferocious eyes slid down to the trembling figure of Alwen.
Alwen's limbs turned to stone; his head hung low, unable to utter a word.
A grotesque, curling smile appeared on Magnus's lips before his voice rang out—low, mocking, and cruel beyond redemption.
"How does it feel, Alwen?"
"I told you… I surpass you in every way."
"The weak will always remain weak in the end."
He chuckled softly, his voice sliding into the wound like a knife.
"No matter how much you struggle… you'll forever be that same helpless brat from years ago."
Magnus stepped closer, speaking loudly enough for every cell in Alwen's body to hear.
"Look at what your efforts have achieved."
"You couldn't protect anyone."
"You couldn't save a single soul."
He laughed, pure malice dripping from the sound.
"Those you tried to save… in the end, they see you only as a calamity that brought tragedy upon them."
His voice dropped to a vicious whisper.
"Like a curse… one that even you cannot escape… Alweeen."
Alwen stood silent, as if dead on his feet before Magnus.
Magnus reached out, intending to touch him—
*CRACK!*
Alwen's arm shot up, seizing Magnus's wrist so tightly that the spikes on the armor tore through his own flesh; blood dripped down in steady drops.
Murderous intent blazed in his eyes, completely replacing the weakness of moments before.
Magnus looked mildly surprised and yanked his arm back.
*RIIIP!!*
A large chunk of flesh was torn from Alwen's hand.
Yet he didn't even flinch.
No pain.
No fear.
Only hatred.
Magnus took half a step back and coldly raised the black spear.
The spear thrust downward, aiming straight for Alwen's shoulder like a gust of wind—
—but pierced only empty air.
In a moment too fast for even natural reflexes to follow, Alwen had lowered his center of gravity and shifted his body to the side.
Magnus faltered for an instant.
"What—?"
Before he could process it, Alwen's hand flashed downward, seizing his own broken sword still embedded in the ground.
The screech of metal being pulled free mingled with Alwen's sharp, resolute breathing.
In one seamless, almost inhuman motion, he swung the broken blade horizontally with every ounce of strength he had.
Magnus felt the killing intent bearing down on him.
He instantly pulled the spear back, raising it like a wall of black metal to block the strike.
*CLANG!!!!*
The impact rang out like thunder, lightly shaking the ground.
A shockwave burst from the clash of weapons—
both Alwen and Magnus were forced back several steps, digging furrows in the dirt to keep their balance.
Magnus stared deeply at Alwen; his gaze shifted from contempt to seriousness.
Alwen, despite his mangled hand, gripped the broken sword tightly.
Blood still poured from the one eye that remained, yet he no longer trembled—his gaze was sharp and cold, like a cornered beast finally striking back.
The air between them grew heavy as iron.
Magnus let out a low, excited chuckle.
"…So the weak little brat finally fights back, huh…?"
Alwen silently stepped backward, maintaining a safe yet threatening distance, letting Magnus feel the explosive aura radiating from him.
He bent down, draped his tattered cloak over Ronan's body—an act of final dignity.
Ronan's blood still stained his hands, a reminder of an old promise: *"I'll always be there when it matters."*
Suddenly he straightened, eyes ice-cold, slowly lifting one foot and then the other.
"You schemed all this… just to kill me."
His voice had turned so frigid it sent shivers down the spine.
He spoke while moving, ready to strike.
"You murdered everyone… just to hurt me."
He stopped. Flames of hatred flared in his eyes—an unforgiving glare.
Magnus interrupted.
"And I'll keep doing it."
His tone dripped with mockery, as if he'd gladly torment Alwen a thousand times more.
Alwen didn't care.
He glanced at the terrified civilians behind him, then spoke calmly.
"I don't need their respect, and I don't care what they think."
"The only thing I want…"
His eyes locked onto Magnus.
"…is for no one else to suffer."
He stared straight into the demon's face hidden behind that armor, his gaze piercing all the way to the soul.
"You killed the person closest to me."
"But that won't make me collapse… or bow to someone like you."
Alwen tightened his grip on the broken sword; his remaining eye blazed as though awakening from darkness.
Instead, it reminded me…
that I'm still too weak to protect anyone.
His voice was hoarse from pain and wounds, yet his eyes never wavered—memories of Ronan burned like fire inside him.
"And because of that… I will stand again, even if I have to fall a hundred more times."
All the nearby onlookers stood stunned, unable to believe their eyes.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
Many began to cheer for Alwen, raising branches, hoes, and shovels high while shouting with fervor:
"PRINCE ALWEN!!!"
Even King Regalus—frail and supported by soldiers—halted.
He stared at his son in astonishment, pride and worry mingling in his gaze.
He turned sharply to his soldiers.
"Protect Alwen at all costs! He must not die!!!!"
Some soldiers hesitated and stepped forward, but most still cowered before a monster like Magnus.
King Regalus roared, "Cowards! He is the future of all Aurvel!"
Yet seeing them unmoved, the king could only sigh helplessly and look toward Alwen.
The atmosphere was so oppressive that weaker creatures might faint on the spot.
Then Magnus suddenly froze.
And…
*Clap clap clap…*
Unexpected applause rang out; both men halted mid-step.
Magnus stood there, his face strangely expressionless.
"Very nice. Quite the stirring speech."
His voice was thick with sarcasm in every syllable.
Alwen said nothing, only staring straight at him.
"But I truly underestimated your spirit. Still—words are cheap!"
With that, Magnus kicked the ground—*clang!*
A fallen warrior's sword shot upright into the air, then plunged down, embedding itself right in front of Alwen's feet.
He pointed at it, voice cold as ice.
"Then prove your courage right here."
As he finished speaking, Magnus raised one hand skyward.
From the void above, a swirling mass of black smoke appeared—thick as living liquid—crawling down his arm.
*Whoosh!*
He swung his arm forward.
The black smoke instantly condensed, taking shape—and in the blink of an eye, a long, razor-sharp black sword fell perfectly into his grasp.
Its blade was an abyss of endless darkness, pointed directly at Alwen.
Magnus tilted his head slightly.
"Come."
Alwen answered the challenge without a moment's hesitation.
He bent down, grasped the hilt of the sword at his feet, and lifted it decisively. Cold steel trembled faintly in his hand.
He leveled the tip straight at Magnus.
The two stood facing each other, each holding a sword extended before their chest, points aimed precisely at the other's heart.
Wind howled past, making Magnus's black cloak billow like spreading darkness, while Alwen's tattered cloak fluttered like a banner of hope amid the ruins.
One side was overwhelming darkness that sought to swallow the entire battlefield.
The other was unyielding will, refusing to retreat despite an exhausted body.
The wind blew again, lifting both cloaks gently.
In that moment, everyone understood:
This battle… would decide everything.