The moment those words left his lips, Draven moved—his spear igniting as flames burst along the shaft, turning the throne room into a blazing furnace.
The marble floor split under the heat as he roared and lunged, pouring every ounce of B-rank killing intent into a single thrust aimed to pierce Ash's heart and end this nightmare.
Ash, however, hadn't even summoned his weapon. He simply looked at his foolish brother with a smile, as a single thought crossed his mind.
'Well, like that one old saying. Payback is a bitch.'
As the thought crossed his mind, the spear was already upon him.
He stepped smoothly into the thrust, his shoulder grazing the shaft like a lover passing in a hallway. The flaming tip missed by a hair and slammed into the pillar behind, turning the stone to molten slag.
BANG!
Seeing how effortlessly Ash dodged, Draven's eyes widened.
Ash smiled at the sight, then finally moved.
From nowhere, a sword of pure black glass slid into his right hand—a blade from the Seraphiel proving grounds, thin and light. He had sealed his rank down to B the moment Draven charged, just to make the lesson personal.
The first clash came in silence.
Draven wrenched his spear free and whipped it into a fiery whirlwind, a move he'd used to wipe out whole squads of knights.
[Infernal Maelstrom - 5% Total Mana]
FWOOOM!
Flames roared into a swirling tornado of molten death.
Ash strolled right through it.
For a heartbeat, nine spectral void-moon tails shimmered behind him.
Perched on his shoulder in her tiny form, Vaeloria smiled, recognizing her sword style now seamlessly his own. The fire parted like curtains before royalty—not blocked, not endured, simply disregarded. The black blade carved a lazy crescent through the air.
A line of blood opened across Draven's chest, armor and flesh parting like silk.
Draven stumbled back, eyes wide. "What the fuck—"
Ash's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Remember when we were kids and you broke my arm just because I looked at your spear the wrong way?"
The black sword flicked upward.
Draven's gauntlet splintered; the bones beneath cracked in the exact same spot Ash's had years ago.
"Payback's nostalgic, isn't it?" Ash's voice drifted through the room like a devil's whisper.
Draven screamed and triggered another skill.
[Crimson Descent - 5% Mana Pool]
Wings of blazing fire burst from his back, the heat surging until it scorched the air. He lunged forward, spear leading the way, a blazing comet of fury and fear.
WHOOSH!
Ash spun on the ball of his foot, his body moving like a ripple of shadow.
The spear sliced through nothing but air.
As he passed, Ash's blade grazed Draven's thigh, leaving a shallow cut that burned with a chill sharper than winter frost. Draven dropped to one knee, his blood sizzling where it touched the marble.
"You used to laugh when I couldn't even lift a training sword," Ash said quietly, circling him with deliberate steps.
"Called me trash destined to die in a ditch."
He closed the distance again.
The black sword blurred beyond sight, nine void tails curling through the air, leaving trails of pure darkness that devoured Draven's flames.
A thrust, a twist, a diagonal slash—each strike sharp, measured, almost poetic.
Draven's left arm dangled limp, tendons torn. A deep slash across his ribs revealed bone, and a shallow cut on his cheek echoed the scar he'd once given Ash with a ringed fist. Each wound was intentional. Each one a reminder.
His spear hit the ground with a clatter, the flames flickering out like dying candles. He staggered, legs trembling, eyes wide with raw panic.
Ash stepped up to him, the tip of her black sword pressing lightly beneath his chin, tilting his head upward.
"Look at me," he said softly.
Draven obeyed.
Golden-pink eyes met his.
"I'm not killing you today," Ash went on, his voice carrying easily through the throne room. "Death would be mercy. You'll live with every scar I've given you. Every time you see your reflection, you'll remember the trash you mocked and spat on."
The sword flicked, shimmering with paradox mana.
A final shallow cut traced across Draven's forehead, blood dripping into his eyes. Ash stepped back, slid the blade into its sheath of darkness, and turned away.
Draven collapsed, sobbing, the once-proud second prince now a bleeding wreck on his own throne-room floor, while Nia watched with bright eyes, Vaeloria's tiny fox form lazily licking blood from her whiskers, and the rest of the royal family stared in mute.
Ash didn't look back, only leaving a few words.
"Consider today mercy… Who knows when the next time you'll see me."
"Perhaps by then, I'll have already accomplished everything you dreamed of… Nia, come, let's go."
With that, Nia followed, clinging to his arm without a care in the world.
After today, he had made peace with the past and was entirely focused on the future. This kingdom, this family—he would leave to fate.
As his path was destined to be far beyond this mere kingdom.