In truth, Nicolas had a much darker reason for staying behind.
It was the suffocating weight of his own inadequacy. Alex and Emily—those two stood at the absolute pinnacle. Sure, Nicolas ranked third in their team's training standings, but the numbers were a lie. The sheer, impassable gulf between second and third place haunted him.
That was his real fear. If he went with them to the Dark Council and dragged them down, whatever fragile self-confidence he had left would shatter completely.
Meanwhile, back on the Black Road, the local guards were already questioning the Mountain Killers about the sudden commotion.
"Did you get a good look at what just happened?" a guard asked, pen poised over a parchment.
Sir Alric Valthorne didn't miss a beat. His answer was flawlessly flat. "I saw a blur, mostly. Everything happened too fast. Couldn't quite make heads or tails of it."
The guard sighed, immediately recognizing a dead end. He wasn't exactly eager to press a man built like a fortress anyway. Writing down a brief procedural note, he nodded. "Appreciate it." With that, the guard moved on.
Down the path, Alex narrowed his eyes against the horizon. He was searching for Nicolas. Unfortunately, only one silhouette was approaching.
As it stood, the group on the Black Road consisted only of Emily, Alex, Sir Alric Valthorne, and Annie the Esper. Ronan Blackveil and Nicolas were entirely absent.
Alex offered a gentle wave. "Welcome back, Emily."
A bitter, quiet smile touched Emily's lips. "Glad to be back."
By then, Alric had already set Alex down on his own two feet. Shaking off the stiffness, Alex stepped toward her. "Is Harry okay?"
"He's resting. Physically, he's intact," Emily replied, her voice tinged with lingering doubt. "But mentally... whether he can still become a knight after this, I don't know."
"He just had incredibly bad luck," Alex said softly. "I'm guessing Nicolas decided to stay behind?"
"Yeah. The whole thing shook him too. I think his confidence is completely gone."
Alex studied her face. "And what about you? Are you okay?"
Emily reached out and grasped Alex's hand. Her grip was ironclad. "More than I've ever been. Come on. Let's finish this mission."
A faint smile broke through Alex's distant expression. He squeezed her hand back, anchoring them both.
Back in the infirmary, the silence was heavy.
Nicolas sat slumped in a wooden chair, listening to the agonizingly shallow rasp of Harry's breathing. The doctor had said he was fine, just in shock—but Nicolas could see the beads of sweat soaking through Harry's sheets.
He reached out, pressing the back of his hand against Harry's forehead. He recoiled.
Harry was burning up. He was practically radiating heat.
Panic setting in, Nicolas pushed himself out of the chair, turning toward the corridor to shout for the doctor.
Creeeeak.
The heavy wooden door slowly swung inward. A hooded shadow slipped into the room, seemingly absorbing the ambient light.
Nicolas froze, his blood running cold as their eyes met. "Ronan..." he breathed, the name barely a whisper.
Ronan raised a single, scarred finger to his lips. Moving with an eerie, completely silent grace, he closed the distance between them and dropped a tiny glass vial into Nicolas's trembling palm. Inside, a viscous purple liquid pulsed faintly, as if alive.
"You know it's poison in his veins," Ronan murmured, his voice a gravelly hiss. "And now, the antidote is in your hands. Make him drink it. But forget where you got it. No one finds out."
Cold sweat dripped down the back of Nicolas's neck. "But... what about the mission—"
Ronan's eyes narrowed into terrifying, predatory slits. "The rendezvous point is Akrafjall Harbor. Pass it on to the rest of the team. Tell them not to wait around on the Black Road." He leaned in closer. "I know you'll be there, Nicolas. Because if you aren't..."
Ronan's hand hovered over Harry's pale, sweat-drenched face. His fingers didn't even touch the boy's skin, but the sheer killing intent was suffocating.
"...I won't let him take another breath."
He slipped backward like a phantom, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him.
Nicolas stared at the vial in his palm, his heart aching with a violent, terrifying rhythm. He hesitated. A single drop of the wrong substance, and he could lose Harry forever. But with his hands slick with cold sweat, he realized he had no other choice. He sprinted to find the doctor.
"Harry... his condition is crashing. But maybe... maybe this antidote will work," Nicolas stammered, his voice trembling as panic drowned his eyes. "I'm not completely sure, but—"
The doctor snatched the vial, holding it up to the light before shooting Nicolas a piercing glare. "Where did you get this?"
"It doesn't matter," Nicolas pleaded, dropping his gaze. "Just... I just want to save him."
The doctor's face twisted into a scowl, but professionalism quickly took over. He carefully drew the shimmering liquid into a syringe. Nicolas held his breath, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. Every single drop felt heavy with the unbearable weight of Harry's life.
The needle pierced skin. The first drop entered his bloodstream.
Harry convulsed—a sharp, sudden tremor—and then, agonizingly slowly, his ragged breathing began to smooth out.
Tears spilled over Nicolas's eyelashes. His knees gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, his sweaty palms pressing against the cold stone. Please... please don't go, he chanted silently to himself.
The doctor let out a long breath and gave a stiff nod. "It worked. But keep your guard up. The risk isn't entirely gone yet."
Nicolas looked up. Harry's face was still ghostly pale, but the agonizing tension was gone. He was alive. The crushing weight on Nicolas's shoulders eased, instantly replaced by a chilling realization: one moment of hesitation, one mistake, and it would have been the absolute end.
The doctor turned back to Nicolas, opening his mouth—no doubt loaded with a barrage of questions.
Panic flared in Nicolas's chest. Averting his eyes, he held his breath, backed away softly, and slipped out the door. Once in the hall, he ran. His feet barely touched the cobblestones. He had to get to the Black Road.
As he sprinted through the narrow, winding stone alleys, his heart pounded a single, rhythmic prayer of relief: It worked. It worked.
Back at the infirmary, mere moments after Nicolas vanished, the heavy doors swung open once more. Culad, the personal aide to King Ireat, stepped into Harry's room, having just caught wind of the incident. But Nicolas was already long gone.
Gasping for air, Nicolas desperately tried to quiet his racing thoughts as the Black Road came into view. His eyes scanned the gathering. The team was already waiting, clearly restless from the delay. Emily's face still held a bitter edge, Alex was a statue of solemnity, and Annie stood in eerie silence. Sir Alric Valthorne loomed like a mountain, his sharp gaze saying everything without a single word.
Nicolas skidded to a halt, his chest heaving. He took a steadying breath, making a silent, ironclad vow: All right. It's time for the mission. But never again... I will never let something like this happen to Harry again.
"We need to move," Nicolas panted, breaking the tense silence. "We have to go to the village of Akrafjall. We're meeting Ronan there."
A brief, heavy silence fell over the group.
Then, Emily gave a subtle nod. Alex's expression remained completely unreadable. Annie merely blinked her hollow eyes.
And Alric, moving with surprising gentleness, rested a massive hand reassuringly on Nicolas's shoulder.