Thiriel could barely keep standing.
His body felt heavy, as if every bone were made of lead, and the Magic Warrior Aura had dissipated completely, leaving him with a scorching void in his core and much pain coursing through his muscles. Even so, he forced himself to get up.
He picked up the kitchen knife from the floor.
The blade was chipped, covered in dried and fresh blood, but it remained firm in his hand.
He took a few steps toward the center of the lobby.
The apprentices were paralyzed.
Some senior apprentices had fallen to their knees, trembling, weeping without trying to hide it. Not just from exhaustion; it was the brutal relief of knowing they were free after years of being controlled.
"It's over…" one of them murmured, with a broken voice. "It's really over."
Others hugged in silence.
The youngest were in shock. They looked at Vexar's headless body, the blood spreading across the floor, and they didn't know what to do.
Some sobbed. Others had a vacant stare.
Thiriel said nothing.
His gaze shifted slowly.
It locked onto a single person.
Drowen.
The boy was on his knees, covered in dirt and sweat, breathing with difficulty. He had lost all arrogance, all rage.
When he saw Thiriel approaching, his eyes filled with terror.
"N-no…" he stammered. "P-please Thiriel."
The silence grew heavier.
The other apprentices said nothing. No one stepped forward to intervene. No one defended Drowen. Some even clenched their fists with suppressed rage.
They hated him.
For his betrayal.
For his envy.
For having chosen the monster even when the truth was right in front of him.
"I didn't want to die," moaned Drowen. "He promised me power, survival, I just…"
Thiriel stopped in front of him.
He looked down at him, without visible hate, without explosive anger.
Only with calm and coldness.
"You had choices," he said in a low voice. "We all did."
Drowen shook his head frantically.
"We can still fix it!" he shouted. "I can help! I can go with you! You don't have to…!"
Suddenly he stood up, trying to gather the little magic he had left, lunging clumsily at Thiriel in a final desperate attempt.
It was useless.
Although Thiriel was exhausted, he wasn't an apprentice. His experience surpassed Drowen's by an abyss.
With a single sidestep he dodged the attack, caught Drowen's wrist, and pulled him in.
The knife flashed for an instant.
A single movement.
Precise.
Silent.
The blade sank directly into Drowen's heart.
The boy's eyes went wide, unable to comprehend what had happened. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His body went limp slowly until it was strengthless.
Thiriel held him for just a second before letting him fall.
Drowen lay motionless on the ground.
No one screamed.
Some apprentices cried in silence. Others lowered their heads. All with sadness written on their faces.
Thiriel closed his eyes for an instant.
He tucked the knife into his belt and turned to the rest.
"Listen, everyone," he continued. "The organization behind Vexar won't sit still. If you stay here, they will come for you."
A nervous murmur ran through the group.
"Take the carriage," he ordered. "Everyone leave together. Do not separate."
He pointed to the senior apprentices.
"You know how to fight. Protect the youngest until they can fend for themselves."
One of them nodded firmly.
"We won't leave them behind."
"And you?" asked Kael, looking at him with concern. "Are you coming with us?"
Thiriel shook his head.
"I have other matters to attend to."
No one insisted.
They knew it wasn't the time for questions.
Thiriel turned around and went up the stairs, ignoring the pain that threatened to make him fall with every step.
His next destination was clear.
Vexar's room.
He entered without any care. There was nothing left to hide.
He searched every corner quickly. He opened chests, overturned shelves, searched drawers. He found coins, minor artifacts, alchemical vials, and finally, the most important thing: Vexar's spatial bag, with a capacity clearly superior to the ones the apprentices had.
Inside were magic crystals, of a higher purity than those obtained from the beasts around here.
Also several parchments with advanced spells.
Then he went to the enchanted drawer.
This time, he didn't bother being careful. He channeled magic and broke the alert enchantment with brute force.
Inside he found an experimentation notebook.
He opened it… and realized he had found the worst.
Two spells were recorded in full detail:
One to extend life, draining another's vital essence periodically.
Another for body swapping, incomplete, but developed enough to be terrifying.
The notes were explicit.
Names.
Dates.
Side effects.
All… orphans.
Thiriel closed the notebook with trembling hands.
"Bastard," he murmured.
He lit a flame.
The notebook burned fast, consuming pages, names, and horrors. He waited until nothing remained but ashes.
Then he descended to the basement.
He didn't hesitate.
He broke magic circles. Destroyed nodes. Overturned ritual tables. Finally, he set fire to everything that could burn, letting the flames consume that cursed place.
When he came out, smoke was already beginning to fill the lower levels.
He didn't look back.
He went straight to the stable.
Caethiriel was there, trembling, but safe. When she saw him, she ran toward him.
"Is it over?" she asked with a tearful voice.
Thiriel nodded.
"Yes. Let's go."
They mounted a horse without wasting time. They abandoned the tower while, in the distance, the carriage with the apprentices departed down another path.
The night wind hit Thiriel's face as the horse moved forward.
Before them, the road leading to Oakhaven stretched out dark, but free.
The tower was left behind.
The revenge was over.
Now… the true journey began.