but the counter barely held — the power of his magic was weakened by the zones surrounding him. His reflected energy scattered harmlessly.
Dragan moved in — his blade meeting Gray's in a fierce collision.
Clang! Clang! The clash of steel rang across the battlefield.
From behind, Velda's blood magic surged. Crimson tendrils formed, racing to bind Gray in a blood clot.
Gray reacted on instinct — mid-duel, he leapt, planting a foot on Dragan's steel arm for leverage.
With a grunt, he hurled one of his blades into the sky, drew his gun in a flash, and fired.
Bang!
The bullet struck the spinning blade, sending it tearing through Velda's blood magic. The crimson tendrils shredded apart, splattering to the ground.
Gray's blade fell — he kicked it mid-air, sending it hurtling toward Dragan like a missile.
But—
Snap!
Morne's strings coiled around the blade, stopping it cold.
Gray landed — but his feet touched Morne's enchanted ground.
Instantly, the threads rose like a trap. Morne wove them tighter, his fingers dancing.
With a flick, Morne hurled Gray's own blade at him with brutal force.
Gray barely managed to parry with his second blade —
Clang!
But at that moment —
Dragan's arm shifted, forming into a massive steel hammer.
BOOM!
He smashed it into Gray, launching him through the air.
Gray crashed into the dirt, blood splattered, his body sliding to a stop some distance away.
Cravik stepped forward, standing at Imperial's head, cast a spell from so long which was nearly complete.
Imperial forced his eyes open — hazy, weak — and what he saw froze his heart.
In the distance, the execution platform… the very one where his father had been put to death.
The vision struck him with unbearable weight — fear, grief, helplessness.
He scanned the battlefield.
Gray lay motionless, bloodied, his weapons scattered.
On the other side — Ari, Dawn, Tracey…
His friends.
His comrades.
All fallen, their bodies broken, lifeless.
Confusion.
Shame.
Rage.
It all swelled inside him, choking him.
He had failed.
Failed to protect them.
Failed to live up to the trust they placed in him.
The friends he longed for… the bonds he cherished…
Gone. All because of him.
The weight of it crushed his soul.
A scream tore from his throat — raw, anguished.
It echoed across the ruined battlefield, shaking even the Vice Generals for a heartbeat.
His eyes burned with fury, with grief, with shame.
Every emotion mixed into one: rage.
His magic sparked wildly, uncontrolled.
Magic flared from his body, unstable, dangerous.
This wasn't just the power of anger.
This was the breaking point — the moment a hero's heart fractures beneath the weight of his failure.
The moment Imperial Alden rose, not for glory, but for the friends who had given everything for him.
"Suddenly, a flashback hit."
At the age of seven, Imperial Alden already lived under the heavy shadow of expectations. Born in the Royal Town, with nobility in his blood, most would assume his life was filled with praise, laughter, and companionship. But reality, for him, was lonelier than silence itself.
He often stood at the edge of the training yards, watching other children run and play—laughing, shouting, challenging each other with wooden swords and harmless magic sparks. Imperial would try to join. A hesitant wave. A soft smile. A timid approach.
But every time, they turned away.
"Don't play with him."
"He's weird."
"He never talks much."
"That's the Alden boy, right? Creepy eyes."
A noblewoman, one of the mothers of the children, stepped forward and offered a stiff bow.
"Forgive the children, Young Master Imperial. They spoke out of turn."
Her voice was polite, but her eyes held no warmth. The apology felt hollow — a formality, a meaningless gesture offered only for the sake of reputation. Not because it came from the heart.
Inwardly, she cursed the boy. To her, he was a symbol of recklessness — a boy unable to control the raw, volatile magic that defined him. The thought of her own children playing with him, possibly picking up the same destructive habits, twisted her gut.
He may be a son of one of the Empire's top three royal families and an eleven Supreme, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous.
Better for the children to stay far away from the likes of him.
With a faint, forced smile and a slight tilt of the head, she stepped back, still harboring the bitter thought deep within.
They walked away without a second glance, as if he were invisible.
As if he didn't belong.
That evening, Imperial walked alone down the cobbled path leading back to the Alden estate. The sky burned a soft gold as the sun dipped behind the palace towers. His small hands were clenched tightly by his sides, his steps slow and heavy.
Then—
He heard voices.
Two royal guards stood near the eastern gate, laughing.
"Found some stray mutt near the bakery," one of them said.
"Didn't have any collar or markings," the other added. "Probably diseased."
"I put it in a box and dropped it just outside the barrier. Town laws. No unmarked animals allowed. Let the wilderness deal with it."
They laughed again, like it was a joke.
Imperial froze, his heart tightening.
They were talking about a baby dog.
When the guards finally walked off, Imperial crept forward, hiding behind bushes and stone walls until he reached the outskirts of town. And there—beside a crooked tree—was a wooden box. Inside, a small creature whimpered.
It was a young dog.
Not newborn, but still very small. His fur was dirty, matted, and his eyes looked tired… but not scared. Just… lonely.
Imperial slowly reached out his hand.
The dog sniffed it, and then gently licked his palm.
Something in Imperial's chest clicked.
Strange warmth. A feeling that he wasn't alone anymore.
He smiled softly for the first time that day.
He carefully lifted the pup and hid him in a thick bush grove near the edge of the outer wall. It was a safe little pocket, away from guards and townsfolk.
From that day on, Imperial visited the dog every single evening.
He brought him scraps of food—mostly from his own meals which mother, Lyra, had cooked. Warm bread, tiny meat slices, even the desserts he secretly tucked into napkins and hid under his robes. Sometimes the dog didn't eat right away, especially in the early days. But they would play. The dog would wag his tail, nuzzle into Imperial's lap, bark softly when Imperial arrived, and lick his face.
They were both outsiders.
And somehow, in that hidden space, they were home.
Weeks turned into months.
The dog grew healthier. Stronger.
Imperial would laugh when he rolled over. He named him "Ray"—because he felt like a ray of sunshine in his otherwise grey world.
But one day—everything changed.
When Imperial arrived, food in hand and excitement in his steps, he found Ray lying weakly on the ground. His body trembled, his breaths were shallow. Imperial panicked.
"Ray? What's wrong?" he whispered, kneeling beside him.
He placed the food down—and Ray, starving, devoured it like he hadn't eaten in days.
Imperial frowned. He always brought food. Why didn't he eat?
Then the thought hit him—
someone else had come. Someone had been taking the food.
He ran back to the estate, grabbed more, and rushed out again. But this time, when he arrived—
He wasn't alone.
Three older boys stood around Ray's hiding spot. One of them was chewing on the meat that was meant for Ray. Another kicked at the ground, mocking the dog's feeble attempts to bark.
"I still wonder who keeps feeding this mangy mutt," one of them laughed.
Imperial's voice rang out like a thunderclap.
"Why are you eating his food!?"
They turned, startled. Then smirked.
"Well, well, look who it is. The mute noble kid," one sneered.
"I bet you were feeding it. Figures. You're just as dirty as the dog."
Imperial, unlike his brother and the other children — who were celebrated beyond the town for their powers, accomplishments, and positions within the royal army — was largely unknown. He held no remarkable reputation, no notable feat, no special status that set him apart. To the wider world, he was just another boy from the Empire, a shadow overlooked.
Imperial's hands trembled. His breath was quick. Rage built in his chest.
"Leave him alone…" he whispered.
One of them picked up Ray by the scruff of his neck. The pup yelped.
You mean this thing?" he sneered, holding up the object with a mocking smirk. "What are you gonna do — cry to your daddy? Or run to the royal council like some commoner complaining about a 'little accident' with my puppy?"