Ronan raised his arm slowly, palm open toward Darius. The forest fell strangely quiet around him, even the rustling leaves seeming to pause as Aether gathered above his hand.
A low hum spread through the air.
Then a magic circle materialised.
Crimson.
Not the bright red of ordinary flame magic, but a deep molten hue, like iron pulled fresh from a forge. The circle hovered just above Ronan's palm, no larger than his hand, intricate runes rotating within one another with terrifying precision. Heat rippled outward, distorting the air around it.
The instant the spell stabilised, Ronan's expression tightened.
His breathing hitched.
A violent drain ripped through his core, so sudden it felt like someone had scooped half the Aether straight out of his body. Pain stabbed through his channels. Sweat beaded along his brow and slid down the side of his face.
Then another circle appeared beneath Darius.
Crimson light erupted across the ground in branching patterns. Embers spiralled upward in a slow vortex, surrounding him in swirling firelight. Before anyone could react, a cape of living flame settled over Darius's shoulders.
The fire danced softly in the morning breeze.
Yet there was no scorching heat.
Only warmth.
Gentle. Deep. Comforting.
Darius blinked in confusion as the sensation spread through him. The burning ache in his muscles eased first. Then the sharp pain in his chest dulled. Turbulent Aether inside his channels gradually calmed, as though invisible hands were smoothing fractured currents back into place.
The flame did not feel foreign.
It felt familiar.
As if the fire recognised him.
"What...?" Darius muttered under his breath.
His torn muscles knitted together beneath his skin. Bruised flesh faded. The trembling instability around his core slowly settled.
Off to the side, Oliver's face lost all colour.
His lips parted slightly.
"Ashen Bloom…?" he whispered.
The words barely escaped him.
"How?"
There was panic buried beneath the disbelief.
Before Oliver could continue, Ronan lowered his arm and spoke over the lingering hum of the spell.
"Move," he said calmly. "The blood will attract more monsters. Gather the cores and materials."
"Yes," Orin and Rai answered together.
The two immediately got to work, stepping through torn underbrush and scattered monster corpses.
Oliver didn't move.
He stared at Darius as if he were looking at something impossible.
Then suddenly—
"Ronan!"
The sharpness in his voice made everyone turn.
Ronan looked back, eyes narrowing faintly. "What?"
Oliver strode toward him, boots crunching across broken branches. "Do you even know what you just cast on Darius?"
Ronan frowned slightly. "A healing spell."
Oliver let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Healing? That was no ordinary healing spell. That was Ashen Bloom!"
His voice rose with every word.
He turned toward Darius sharply. "And you—do you have any idea how dangerous that was? One mistake and that spell could—"
His words died in his throat.
Darius stood there completely upright.
No blood.
No torn flesh.
Even the exhaustion in his breathing had eased considerably.
He slowly rotated his shoulder, then flexed his fingers experimentally, staring at his own hand in stunned silence. The flaming cape faded gradually from the bottom upward, burning away into drifting embers like smouldering parchment.
"This spell..." Darius said quietly, glancing toward Ronan. "It's far stronger than Blazing Restoration."
Oliver took an unconscious step backwards.
His mouth opened again, but no words came out this time.
"Stop standing there like you saw a ghost," Orin called while tossing a severed claw into the growing pile of materials. "It's barely morning. Help us gather."
Oliver blinked once before giving a stiff nod.
"...Right."
He joined them mechanically, movements rigid and distracted.
As they worked, Orin lowered his voice. "What happened to him?"
Rai snorted. "Boss and Darius shattered his brain. Might need a blacksmith to hammer it back together."
Despite the joke, Rai's eyes flicked toward Ronan with concern.
The battle had lasted less than fifteen minutes, but Ronan looked exhausted.
Not ordinary exhaustion.
Drained.
His shoulders felt heavier now, his footsteps slower as he moved between the corpses. Even standing seemed to require effort. His Aether pool had nearly bottomed out.
Darius looked no better mentally. Though his wounds were gone, his face remained pale from the strain of channelling two elements simultaneously.
Several minutes later, the group finally finished harvesting every usable core and material.
Ronan touched the ring on his finger.
A shimmer of light flashed.
A medium-sized flying ship materialised beside them.
Its metallic frame gleamed faintly beneath the early morning sun, runic lines etched across its hull. Without hesitation, Ronan leapt aboard the deck.
A moment later, he tossed down a wooden box reinforced with thin metallic lines.
Orin caught it awkwardly. "A storage box?"
He turned it over curiously.
"Like a portable vault?"
"Exactly," Ronan replied. "Dump everything inside and get aboard."
The materials vanished neatly into the enchanted box one after another. Once finished, everyone boarded the ship.
With a low mechanical hum, the vessel rose above the forest canopy.
Trees stretched endlessly beneath them, dark green waves rolling toward the horizon.
Cool wind brushed across Ronan's face as he stood near the helm.
He glanced sideways at Rai. "Go find enough monsters to push your Tier."
Rai grinned instantly. "Okay, boss."
Then he jumped.
Straight off the ship.
Branches cracked loudly as he disappeared into the dense forest below.
Orin leaned over the railing and whistled. "One day he's going to miss a branch."
"He'll survive," Ronan replied flatly.
Ronan pulled out the freshly harvested monster cores and nudged them toward Orin before walking toward the helm. He inserted the wooden box into a slot beneath the control console and pressed a glowing rune.
The ship shimmered.
Then vanished completely.
Even the sound of the engines dulled beneath the invisibility barrier.
Only after activating the concealment did Ronan finally sit down heavily beside Orin, crossing his legs with visible fatigue in his eyes.
"Darius."
Darius looked over.
"Your core is unstable right now," Ronan said. "Don't use dual-element casting again unless it's life or death. If the backlash worsens, the damage could become permanent."
Darius nodded silently and sat beside him.
There was gratitude in his expression, though he said nothing.
Then Ronan's gaze shifted toward Oliver.
"You were born into a noble family," he said evenly. "Dual-element affinity. Massive Aether reserves. Resources most people could never dream of."
Oliver stayed silent.
"People like you don't understand how difficult it is for people like me," Ronan continued. "We aren't born powerful. We can't afford to waste. Every spell matters. Every drop of Aether matters."
He lifted a hand slightly, staring at his own fingers.
"That's why we focus on precision instead of overwhelming force. Efficiency instead of excess. Our fighting style looks strange to you because it had to evolve differently."
Oliver lowered his gaze.
Something in Ronan's words tugged at old memories.
Kael.
His cousin had also been born different.
Mist element.
At first, the entire Flamecrest family had celebrated it. Rare elements were symbols of prestige. Kael's early growth had been exceptional, too. Elders praised him constantly. Servants whispered that House Flamecrest had produced another genius.
But praise faded quickly.
Mist had no established cultivation manuals. No ancient legacy arts. No refined combat paths.
Too rare.
Too unknown.
Then Kael lost several academy matches.
That was enough.
Resources disappeared first. Then the instructors. Then, training partners.
Piece by piece, the family abandoned him.
Oliver remembered the three of them spending entire afternoons together as children—himself, Kael, and Lyra. Running through the estate gardens. Sneaking food from the kitchens. Training with wooden swords until sunset.
Like siblings.
Then politics poisoned everything.
Now, staring at Ronan, Oliver suddenly saw the resemblance.
Not in appearance.
In spirit.
The same quiet resolve.
The same refusal to bend.
Ronan continued speaking, pulling Oliver from his thoughts.
"I don't know what Kael told you," he said calmly. "But whatever happened inside the Dimensional Rift, neither Darius nor I blame you."
Oliver looked up slightly.
"You hated us," Ronan said. "But even under that influence, you never truly tried to kill us."
A brief silence followed.
"So we're not holding a grudge."
Ronan met his eyes directly.
"If you want to leave, leave. No one will stop you."
Then his voice hardened.
"But if you stay, then fight properly. Contribute. Stop dragging your feet."
The air aboard the invisible ship suddenly felt colder.
"And understand this clearly."
Ronan's tone dropped lower.
"If you ever plot against us again—if you try to harm any one of us—I'll kill you myself."
No shouting.
No dramatic threat.
Just certainty.
The weight behind those words pressed against Oliver's chest harder than any scream could have.
Ronan's eyes held no hesitation.
Cold.
Still.
Merciless.
A chill crawled down Oliver's spine.
His fingers twitched involuntarily. He looked down in irritation when he noticed the faint tremble in his hand.
Why am I shaking?
He was Master Tier.
Ronan was barely an Adept Tier.
So why did his Killing Intent feel so suffocating?
For a fleeting moment, Oliver felt as though he stood atop a mountain of corpses while countless unseen voices whispered warnings into his ears.
The last time he had experienced something similar was during that terrifying moment when Ronan unleashed the bluish-white Ice Flame.
Not cold that froze flesh.
Cold that reached deeper.
Cold that touched the soul.
This boy…
No.
This monster wearing human skin…
He really would kill me.
And somehow—
Oliver realised with growing unease—
Ronan might actually have the ability to do it.
The ship drifted silently above the endless forest.
Orin sat cross-legged near the railing, eyes closed as monster core essence flowed slowly into his body. Pale light pulsed faintly around him with each breath.
Nearby, Ronan held an Aether crystal between both palms. Crimson light shimmered weakly around his fingers as he absorbed its energy with slow, controlled breaths.
Darius leaned against a large boulder fixed near the centre of the deck, sweat gathering along his brow as he focused inward, carefully stabilising his damaged core.
For a long while, only the low hum of the ship filled the silence.
Then Oliver finally spoke.
"I'm staying."
His voice was quieter now, stripped of arrogance.
"And I'll fight to the extent I'm capable of."
Ronan opened one eye briefly.
"That's acceptable."
Oliver's gaze drifted toward the pile of monster cores nearby. "Wouldn't refining those through an alchemist be more efficient?"
Ronan exhaled through his nose.
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
"But I don't have enough money for that," he continued. "And we're not Master Tier yet. Raw monster essence is still useful for us. Once you reach Master Tier, you need condensed, purified energy to advance properly."
He rolled the Aether crystal slowly between his fingers.
"And more importantly, we don't have time. Finding a competent alchemist isn't easy."
Oliver studied him silently for a moment.
Then he asked carefully, "Ronan… can I ask something honestly?"
A faint smirk tugged at Ronan's lips.
"Depends on the question. We're not exactly friends."
"That's fair."
Oliver nodded once.
"Did you use a purification spell on the moth monster's dust?"
Ronan barked out a dry laugh.
"Do I look like a Master Tier mage to you?"
Oliver stayed silent.
"No," Ronan answered. "I used my purple flame and controlled it precisely enough to burn only the dust particles."
Oliver muttered under his breath, almost unconsciously.
"Again with that control…"
Ronan glanced sideways at him. "Next question?"
Oliver hesitated briefly before asking, "Did you use Ashen Bloom on Darius?"
Ronan's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Yes."
Oliver leaned forward immediately. "Then do you understand the backlash? One mistake and Darius could've turned to ash."
"I know the risks," Ronan replied calmly. "And I know the reward."
His voice remained steady.
"Unlike you, I can't rely on brute force casting. My Aether reserves are limited. So I trained control instead."
He paused briefly, eyes lowering toward the crystal in his hand.
"One of my masters told me something a long time ago. Aether control matters more than Aether quantity."
A faint breeze passed over the invisible deck.
"In real battles, precision wins."
His expression turned thoughtful.
"After entering Sylvara Academy, I focused almost entirely on improving my control. It's good now… though not the best."
A rare note of acknowledgement entered his tone.
"Serena Viridion's control is terrifying. And your cousin Elenor Flamecrest is exceptional too."
"My core's stabilised."
Darius's voice interrupted the conversation.
He pushed himself upright slowly.
Ronan stood as well. "Good."
His expression returned to normal immediately.
"You and Oliver are on patrol duty. Any monsters drawn by the moth blood—kill them. If something exceeds your limits, retreat immediately."
His eyes lingered on Darius a moment longer.
"Don't be reckless."
Darius nodded firmly. "Understood."
Oliver rose beside him without complaint this time.
As the two prepared to leave, Ronan sat back down once more and picked up another monster core, crimson light reflecting faintly in his tired eyes while he resumed absorbing its essence.