Suddenly they heard footsteps.
Eamon's head snapped toward the sound, his body instantly tensing. Skarn, though still weak, gave a low growl, his ears sharp, eyes glowing faintly.
"Someone is coming," Eamon said in a low, steady voice. His eyes narrowed at the path ahead where faint crunches of boots against dry leaves echoed through the silence. "It must be Dragomir. He must have seen that huge fireball I used to defeat Winston."
Arthur pushed himself up with difficulty, wincing as his body still resisted movement. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice breathless, his face pale from blood loss, but his eyes alert.
Eamon looked at him for a moment, calculating, then shook his head. "You stay here. When they arrive, you tell them everything that happened. I will come from behind. If we are found together, that will raise more questions about me, and that could… impact my journey."
Arthur gave a short nod, biting back the pain he was in. "I got it. You and Skarn leave and come from behind."
Eamon hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "But before that… I wish to do something."
Arthur frowned. "What?"
Eamon's eyes turned cold, sharper than the blade at his side. He walked over to where Winston's burned body still twitched faintly, the vampire's healing factor struggling but crippled. His lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Make sure this idiot doesn't talk about me to the army," Eamon muttered darkly.
Arthur's eyes widened. "Eamon, what are you—"
But before he could finish, Eamon unsheathed his vixterium sword. The strange metal shimmered faintly under the glow of fire remnants around them. He crouched near Skarn, carefully letting a single drop of the direwolf's blood touch the blade. The silver-steel hummed, reacting immediately with a hiss.
"Perfect," Eamon whispered. Then, without hesitation, he forced the sword through Winston's mouth, silencing his attempt to speak. The blade sliced through flesh, bone, and tongue, burning with the direwolf's blood like venom. Winston's muffled scream filled the forest as smoke rose from his jaw.
Arthur grimaced, turning his head. "Gods above…" He let out a short, hollow laugh. "Well, that was both intelligent and disgusting at the same time."
Eamon yanked the sword back out, wiping it clean. "Well, if it was poison for him, then I guess his tongue won't grow back."
Arthur let out a faint laugh despite his pain. "You're insane, you know that?"
Eamon gave a small grin, shaking his head. "Insane keeps us alive." He picked up his fallen locket, tightening the chain around his neck, feeling its familiar weight return against his chest. With a final look at Arthur, he patted Skarn's head.
"Take care of yourself. Don't die before I return."
Arthur chuckled weakly. "Same to you, partner."
Eamon gave a nod, then with Skarn limping by his side, he disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
Moments later, the footsteps grew louder, closer. Branches cracked, and finally, a tall figure emerged.
Dragomir arrived—but he was alone. His sharp, imposing presence immediately filled the clearing. His crimson cloak was stained with dust and his silver armor reflected what little light remained. His eyes swept the battlefield, quickly assessing the carnage.
Arthur was sitting there beside Winston's burnt, half-dead body, blood still dripping down his chest but his back straight, his expression composed despite the pain.
Dragomir's gaze fell on Winston, his brows furrowing. "So it's true…" he muttered. He stepped closer, boots crunching on the charred ground. "Winston…" His voice was filled with rage but also disappointment.
Arthur raised his head. "I can explain everything," he said, his voice steady.
And so he did. He explained to Dragomir what all had happened there: how Winston had framed him, how he had manipulated everything, and how he had killed everyone. His voice shook at times from fatigue, but the truth was sharp in his tone.
Dragomir listened without interruption, his piercing eyes locked on Arthur's face as if weighing his every word. Finally, he knelt near Winston's body and placed his gloved hand on his chest. His lips moved in a silent incantation, sealing Winston's crippled body with runes of imprisonment. Chains of dark energy wrapped around him, binding him fully. Winston let out a muffled, guttural scream but could not resist.
"He will not speak nor escape," Dragomir said coldly. "The Council will decide his fate." He turned to Arthur. "And you—you will come with me until your innocence is proven. There will be questions, and you will answer them."
Arthur didn't resist. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "I have nothing to hide. I'll cooperate."
Dragomir gave a single nod, then motioned for him to follow. With Winston's chained body floating behind him like a dragged corpse, he led Arthur away from the battlefield.
Far away, Eamon reached the hotel. He quietly slipped inside, his cloak wrapped tight to hide the blood that still stained him. Helena was there, pacing, her face pale with worry.
The moment she saw him, she rushed forward. "Eamon! Thank the heavens! Where's Arthur? What happened?"
Eamon gently held her shoulders. "I'll explain everything. Arthur's alive. Dragomir has him for now."
Her eyes filled with relief, though concern lingered. "And Skarn?"
Eamon looked toward the corner where he had carried Skarn. He lay curled on the bed, already breathing more evenly. The "pulam lilies" had almost healed all his wounds, their power shimmering faintly through his fur.
"He'll be fine," Eamon assured her. "The lilies worked on both of us. My wounds are gone too."
Helena let out a long breath, nodding. "Thank goodness…"
But Eamon didn't rest. He sat by the window, watching the night fade into dawn. He couldn't sleep, not after everything that had happened. His mind burned with thoughts of curses, obsidian seraphs, and the long road still ahead.
As the sun rose, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, he finally stood. "It's time," he murmured. "I need to see Dragomir."
He strapped his sword to his side, checked Skarn once more, and stepped out. The streets were already bustling, merchants shouting, children running, the city coming alive. Yet Eamon felt detached, walking through them like a shadow.
Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he crashed into someone.
"Watch it," Eamon muttered, steadying himself.
The man he bumped into wore a hood and a cloth covering his face. Suspicion flickered in Eamon's eyes, and he reached for his sword. But before he could act, the stranger pulled the cloth away.
Inside was a face he knew.
Arthur.
Eamon's eyes widened in disbelief. "Arthur? How… how are you here?"
Arthur's face was pale but determined. His eyes darted around nervously. He leaned in close, whispering urgently. "I will tell you everything, but quickly—I don't have much time. We need to go somewhere safe."
Eamon's instincts screamed that Arthur was serious. He gave a short nod. "Alright. But let's take Helena with us. She was worried about you like anything."
Arthur hesitated, then agreed. "Fine. But we must hurry."
They went back to the inn, where Helena nearly collapsed in shock at the sight of Arthur alive and free.
"Arthur!" she gasped, clutching his arm. "I thought—Dragomir—what happened?!"
Arthur placed a hand over hers gently. "I'll explain everything. But first, come with us. We need to get away from prying eyes."
Together, the three slipped through the streets, Arthur leading them with quick, careful steps. He guided them through alleys and narrow lanes until finally they reached an old, abandoned stone warehouse at the edge of the town.
Once inside, Arthur closed the door, his shoulders tense. He turned to them both, his expression grim.
And then he began telling them what happened at Dragomir's office.