"When surrounded, you should always strike first," Orin had once told her, his voice firm after a brutal battle with the Kingdom of Namesh.
Irene, still dripping with the blood of their fallen enemies, had merely wiped Bloodveil clean and scoffed. "What does it matter? Whether they attack first or not, it doesn't change the fact that I'll still kill them all."
Orin had sighed, rubbing his temples. "You little… Listen, it won't always be that way. What if you face multiple opponents stronger than me? Will you still act so arrogant?"
Irene had smirked. "If I ever run into more than one of you, I'll use every last bit of my strength to escape. Who in their right mind would fight a monster like you?"
Now, as she stood surrounded, Javier's voice pulled her back to the present.
"Older sister, don't think of me as a coward for outnumbering you," he said, twirling his daggers. "You're my opponent, after all. Even with your abilities sealed, you're still dangerous enough to end my life."
Irene smiled faintly. "Don't worry, young Javy. I wouldn't think of you as a coward at all."
Javier's expression twitched. "I really wish you'd stop calling me—"
He never got to finish.
Irene moved.
One second, she was standing still—the next, she was in front of him, Bloodveil slicing through the air.
Javier barely managed to react. He blocked, but the sheer force of the strike sent him staggering back. The impact rattled his bones. Damn, she's fast!
Before the soldiers could react, Irene's lips moved in a whisper.
"Läšh Vynë äśhüth,
Dřäl vërą šhîr, näl îśhüth.
Vrënæ řůn, näl šhërä śhîl—
Möräth Šëlvën: Dřälîth Vëräth!"
(Meaning:
"Let the wind carry my every stride,
The enemy may strike, but I decide.
Strength untold, I alone shall wield—
Primal Genesis: Pending Peril!" This is a reinforcement spell that enhances speed and strength.)
"Quick, buy me some time!" Javier ordered, his voice sharp with urgency.
His soldiers lunged at Irene, their weapons flashing, but she moved like flowing water—swift, precise, untouchable. Her rapier sliced through the air, parrying, striking, disabling with terrifying efficiency. A soldier cried out as her blade found his shoulder. Another swung at her from behind, but she twisted, dodging with ease before driving her elbow into his gut. He collapsed, gasping.
But they weren't trying to win. Just stall.
And a few seconds were all Javier needed.
His lips moved swiftly, whispering the incantation, his breath steady despite the chaos. The air around him grew thick, charged with unseen force.
"Äšhü vërä, vën śhärü §hër,
Äšhü vräth, näl śhirë vënâ.
Thëräl nälëv, řäšhü řäthë—
Möräth Šëlvën: Vënälë Šhîrë!"
(Meaning:
"A will to move, yet bound you remain,
A will to fight, but struggle in vain. Trapped in stillness by my decree— Primal Genesis: Shackled Plea.")
A pulse of power rippled outward. Invisible chains wrapped around Irene, locking her in place mid-motion—rapier raised, foot barely touching the ground. Her eyes widened, frustration flickering across her face.
Javier exhaled, meeting her gaze. "Got you."
For a moment, the battlefield stilled. The soldiers caught their breath. But they all knew—this wouldn't hold her for long.
Just as Javier and his men closed in to immobilize Irene, a small figure darted between them.
A boy—no older than nine—rushed in front of Irene, his arms spread wide, his tiny body trembling.
"Please don't hurt my mother!" he screamed.
Javier's eyes widened. His muscles tensed as he forced himself to halt mid-strike, barely managing to withdraw his daggers in time. But the same couldn't be said for the soldier beside him.
The man had already committed to his attack.
Steel glinted in the air.
Irene's breath caught.
The soldier's longsword, meant for Irene, plunged straight through the child's small frame.
Time seemed to freeze.
The boy let out a soft, choked gasp. His eyes, once filled with fear, dulled as blood spilled from his mouth. His tiny hands twitched before going limp.
For a moment, there was silence—so heavy, so suffocating, it felt like the world itself had stopped breathing.
Then, reality crashed down.
"NO!" Irene's scream tore through the incantation restricting her movement like it was nothing.
The soldier who had struck the boy staggered back, his face draining of color. "I—I didn't mean to—"
Irene caught the child before he could collapse, cradling his tiny body in her arms. Blood soaked into her clothes, warm and sticky, as she trembled violently.
"Hold on, Enoch, you are going to be alright," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Just hold on…" If only her abilities weren't sealed, she could have saved him. Even if he was on the brink of death.
But there was no response.
Javier had taken countless lives—so many that killing felt as natural as breathing. He had never hesitated, never flinched. And yet, the sound of Irene's cries made his chest tighten, like a thousand needles piercing through his soul.
His father's words echoed in his mind.
"Your older sister was overly protective of you when you were young. She never let anyone near you. To her, every stranger was a potential assassin waiting for the right moment. But you… you were always laughing when you were with her."
Javier clenched his jaw, his gaze shifting toward the soldier who had struck down the boy. Killing was one thing—most soldiers could do it. But taking the life of an innocent child? That was different. The soldier stood frozen, his grip on his sword tightening as the weight of his actions sank in.
"Damn it," another soldier muttered, his face twisted in frustration. "She said she lived alone. Where the hell did that kid come from?"
Javier knew this wasn't anyone's fault. It was an accident. But that didn't make it any easier to accept. The son of his older sister is dead
Then, Irene spoke, her voice breaking through the heavy silence.
"I'm sorry, Orin. I'm sorry, young Javy."
Javier's stomach dropped.
When someone apologized before making a move, it meant whatever they were about to do was so terrible that they had to ask for forgiveness in advance.
"Damn it—"
"Everyone, get behind me!" Javier ordered sharply. The soldiers hesitated only for a second before obeying, rushing to his side.
"You don't have to do this, older sister," Javier said, his voice low but firm. He could see it in her eyes—the reckless resolve of someone who had nothing left to lose.
He gripped his daggers tightly, forcing himself to stay still. He wanted to make the first move, but he knew better than to attack someone with an unstable mind.
Nothing good would ever come from that.
Before Javier could gather his thoughts, Irene acted first.
Her voice was steady, but there was a deep sorrow laced within her incantation.
"Næl vërä śhîr, řäl vënîth nóirë,
Næl šhërä dräl, §hëvą näl vër řälï.
Thëräl nälëv, řäšhü śhërä zhëvë.
Möräth Šëlvën: Vëräth Äshë!"
(Meaning:
"All is lost, so I give my life,
All shall die, but not by sword or knife.
With my final breath, let all burn in mire.
Primal Genesis: Judgment by Fire.")
The air trembled, crackling with a violent heat. Then, as if the heavens themselves had passed judgment, a massive sphere of fire descended from above.
The sky burned.
Javier's soldiers shouted in panic, shielding their eyes from the blinding glow. Waves of scorching heat washed over them, sucking the moisture from the air. It felt like standing at the mouth of a volcano.
Meanwhile, inside, Irene staggered into the house, clutching her son's lifeless body against her chest. She coughed violently, blood splattering against the walls. Blood dripped from her lips, staining the wooden floor as she pushed aside the furniture, trying to create a safe space. But her strength was failing.
She knew her time was close.
The incantation had already taken its price. The fire outside was not just an attack—it was a sacrificial spell. One that demanded her very life.
Her body gave out. She collapsed to the ground, her vision blurring. The pain was unbearable, but it didn't matter anymore.
Her son was gone. She had nothing left.
But if she could weaken Javier and his men enough to send them back to Runevale—if she could buy Majesty enough time to reach Persia—then her death would not be in vain.
Outside, Javier clenched his teeth, sweat dripping down his face as he assessed the situation.
His father had taught him how to counter sacrificial spells.
The first method was to bind the curse within the spell, preventing it from spreading further. The second was to neutralize the spell entirely—a near-impossible feat, especially against an incantation of this magnitude.
Javier let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, right. As if something like this could be neutralized that easily."
But he had to try anyway.
He had no choice.