Reinhardt felt the pain that had been tearing through his body suddenly fade. His breath, ragged and shallow only moments ago, steadied as though life itself was pouring back into him. Slowly, he opened his eyes—only to find himself sitting upright, Kael kneeling in front of him, holding his hand firmly.
"…Kael?" Reinhardt's voice cracked with disbelief.
Around them, soldiers froze where they stood, staring in stunned silence at what could only be described as a miracle. Their commander, who had been broken and on the verge of death, was now healed as if the dragon's brutal assault had never happened.
Reinhardt pulled his hand back and quickly pressed it against his own body, testing his ribs, his chest, his arms. There was no pain. No shattered bones. Not even the crushing fatigue that normally came after a healing spell. Usually, healing drained a patient's energy as much as the caster's—but this was different. He felt… whole. Strong. As if his vitality had been restored beyond its peak.
His emerald eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, he seized Kael by the shoulders and pulled him into his arms. His voice trembled.
"You idiot! I told you to leave!"
The tone carried reprimand, but beneath it was something raw—relief, and joy so sharp it hurt.
Kael stiffened, clearly unprepared for Reinhardt's sudden embrace. He flinched, awkward and rigid, like someone who hadn't been touched in years. Reinhardt let out a shaky laugh at Kael's reaction, holding him tighter for a moment before finally letting go. His gaze swept their surroundings: the city in ruin, smoke rising from broken homes, soldiers combing through debris for survivors, and the fallen corpse of the undead dragon looming like a mountain of bones.
"Where's Robert? He should have been with you." Reinhardt's tone hardened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of dread. He looked at Kael, whose silence was weighted with guilt.
Elric knelt beside Reinhardt, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Robert collapsed. His mana was overused—I think it triggered his heart. They took him to the castle."
Reinhardt's eyes went wide, and for a moment, all the color drained from his face. But almost instantly, he forced composure back into his features, swallowing his fear. He couldn't falter now. Not when the city lay in ruins around him.
"...I see." His voice was clipped. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the remnants of his own weakness. Turning toward the soldiers, he barked, "Search every corner! Find the survivors—move!"
The soldiers, startled by the steel in their commander's voice despite his torn and bloodstained state, hurried to obey.
When a few of them moved closer to the dragon's corpse, Kael stepped forward. He didn't speak—but the weight of his silent stare froze them in their tracks. Something in those blood-red eyes, sharp and commanding, told them without words that they should not touch it.
Reinhardt noticed and raised his hand. "Stay back. No one approaches the corpse until I give the order."
As the soldiers fell back, Reinhardt's gaze followed Kael. The crimson butterfly had appeared once more, its wings glimmering faintly against the blackened bones. It fluttered down and landed delicately on the dragon's remains.
Kael moved slowly, almost reverently, and placed his hand upon the bone. The moment his skin touched it, a shiver went through him. His shoulders trembled, and to Reinhardt's shock, tears spilled down Kael's pale cheeks.
"Kael…" Reinhardt's voice softened, eyes wide. "Are you… fine?"
Kael only shook his head. He didn't speak, but his silence carried more weight than words. His gaze flicked toward Reinhardt's torn and bloody attire. Without hesitation, Kael shrugged off his own robe and draped it over Reinhardt's shoulders.
Reinhardt blinked at him, startled—then laughed hoarsely, the sound rough but touched with warmth. "Protective now, are you?" He adjusted the robe, still smiling faintly despite the exhaustion etched on his face.
Bending down, Reinhardt pried something loose from the dragon's remains. He held it up to the light: a jagged, glowing shard of crimson metal. A sword fragment. His eyes darkened with realization.
"It seems the dragon used this as its core."
He turned and pressed it into Kael's hand. Kael took it silently, staring down at it. The butterfly circled them once before resting on his wrist, as if urging him forward.
Kael's breath caught. He remembered the words whispered in his dreams, the promises of the dragon's voice—that when he finally gathered all five fragments of his sword, the truth of the dragon's real identity would be revealed to him.
And this—this was the final piece.
Kael slowly lifted the fragment, holding it close to the incomplete sword at his side. The broken blade quivered faintly, resonating with the shard.
But before he pressed them together, he turned toward Reinhardt. His voice, soft but certain, broke the silence.
"Maybe I will faint when I combine them. Catch me."
Reinhardt's breath hitched at the words, his chest tightening. His eyes softened, and for once, the commander of soldiers looked like a man carrying something far heavier. He nodded, voice low but steady.
"Always."
The fragment gleamed in Kael's hand, light spilling from the jagged edges, as if the entire city held its breath.
The air grew heavy as Kael brought the final fragment closer to the broken blade. The jagged shard quivered, glowing faintly, before sinking into place with a soft hum. A blinding light engulfed the sword, forcing even the hardened soldiers to shield their eyes.
When the brilliance faded, the weapon stood whole again—its steel gleaming with an otherworldly sheen, veins of crimson light pulsing faintly along its edge. The butterfly circled once, then vanished into a shimmer of dust, as though its purpose had finally been fulfilled.
Kael stared at the completed sword, his breath caught in his throat. Awe flickered in his usually distant eyes. It was exactly as he had seen it countless times in his dreams—every detail, from the intricate etching along the hilt to the flawless curve of the blade.
Yet something was wrong.
In the past, whenever a fragment joined, flashes of memory struck him—fleeting images, voices, the phantom echo of a world long gone. But this time, nothing came. No vision. No whisper. Only silence.
He tilted his head, confusion creasing his pale features. The sword, still glowing faintly in his hand, felt weighty with expectation, as though waiting for him to understand something he could not grasp.
Reinhardt, who had been bracing himself to catch Kael should he collapse, remained utterly still. His sharp eyes softened as he studied Kael's expression, seeing the tension in the young man's face.
"…Is something wrong?" he asked carefully, not daring to break the fragile quiet around them.
But Kael did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on the sword, as if waiting—hoping—for something more to come.
Reinhardt's lips pressed into a thin line. He did not push further, only standing close enough that, should Kael stumble, he would not fall.
At last, Kael lowered the blade and turned his attention back toward the dragon's skeletal remains. His eyes softened, carrying a quiet sorrow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but clear.
"Can you order them to give him peace?"
Reinhardt's eyes widened. The request was unexpected—simple, yet filled with a gravity he could not ignore. For a moment, he just stared at Kael, the question of why pressing on his tongue. But the look in Kael's eyes—calm, mournful, and unyielding—stayed him.
"…I got it," Reinhardt said at last, voice steady. "But you'll give me the reason why later."
Turning sharply, he called out to the soldiers, his voice carrying authority that left no room for question.
"No one is to desecrate what remains of the dragon. Treat it with care and honor. We will bury it properly—let it rest."
The soldiers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, but obeyed without protest.
With the command given, preparations began to return to the castle. The battle had left the city scarred and smoldering, yet duty pressed them onward. Reinhardt organized the troops quickly, his composure ironclad despite the ruin around him.
Kael still seemed distracted, his brows faintly knit, the completed sword resting against his lap. His silence spoke of unanswered questions—he had expected revelation, truth, perhaps even release. Yet all he found was emptiness.
They mounted their horses, the weary company making their slow journey back. Reinhardt rode at the head, issuing orders to keep the formation tight. Kael was placed with Elric, who cast him cautious glances but said nothing.
As they moved away from the battlefield, Kael's gaze drifted back once more. The dragon's remains loomed behind them, pale bones stark against the darkened sky. His crimson eyes lingered on it, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face—sorrow, perhaps, or remembrance of something he could not yet recall.
The road stretched ahead, but Kael's thoughts remained with the silence the sword had left him.
-----------------------------------------
The company pressed on, their horses moving at a steady pace down the battered road. The ruined city grew smaller in the distance, but the weight of what had happened lingered like a shadow over them.
Elric rode close to Kael, her sharp senses prickling. Something was wrong. Her eyes darted toward the tree line, where faint movements seemed to ripple like shadows slithering out of sight.
She slowed her horse and leaned toward Reinhardt. "We're being followed," she whispered, her tone clipped with urgency. "Keep Kael safe."
Before dismounting, she reached for Kael's hand. Her fingers curled around his cold palm, steady and warm all at once.
"Be careful," she urged.
Kael's crimson eyes lifted to meet hers. His grip on her hand was tighter than he meant it to be, his trauma fresh—memories of Robert collapsing, Reinhardt torn and bloodied, Elric scarred—all because of him.
Sensing his turmoil, Elric smiled faintly. Her voice softened, trembling but resolute.
"It's alright… look, I'm still standing even though I'm injured. And when I'm thinking of you, there's nothing I can't do."
Kael didn't answer. He only stared at her, silence heavier than words.
Slowly, he released her hand. Elric gave him one last glance before pulling away and urging her horse toward the rear guard. Kael's eyes never left her retreating figure.
Reinhardt guided his mount closer, taking hold of Kael's reins with one hand. His emerald eyes narrowed as unease settled in his chest. The manner in which the dragon had revived gnawed at him.
No beast of death returned to life on its own. Someone had orchestrated it. Worse still—he himself had locked the sword fragment within the castle treasury. How, then, had it ended up lodged inside the dragon's core?
He exhaled slowly, forcing calm. Elric had taken soldiers to guard the rear, yet danger pressed on every side.
Reinhardt cast a sidelong glance at Kael. The young man's expression was unreadable, though frustration lined his features. The sword should have revealed something when completed, yet it had given him nothing. And beneath that silence, Reinhardt could see another worry: Robert.
"…Are you alright?" Reinhardt asked gently.
Kael turned his gaze on him, but said nothing.
A small, wry smile tugged at Reinhardt's lips. "Thank you for healing me back there. How did you do it?" he asked, his tone warm, teasing almost, as though lightness might ease Kael's burden.
No reply.
Reinhardt chuckled faintly, shaking his head. "And your fight with the dragon… I was at the edge of death trying to bring it down, and you—just one strike." His grin widened with mock exaggeration. "Maybe it was only easy because I had already weakened it for you."
Still, Kael remained silent, his eyes lowering. But Reinhardt caught the faintest twitch in his expression, the hint that his words had reached him.
Their conversation was cut short when the horses slowed.
There, in the middle of the dirt road, stood a child. A little girl no older than seven, her face streaked with tears, her sobs echoing into the quiet woods. She stood utterly alone.
The soldiers pulled up, confusion and caution rippling among them. Reinhardt's sharp eyes narrowed. His instincts screamed danger.
"…Stay alert," he muttered, voice low and edged with steel.
One soldier dismounted, stepping cautiously toward the crying child. "Easy there, little one," he said, voice gentle, hand extended.
But as he crouched down before her, the child's sobbing stilled. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle—too sharp, too stiff.
In the next breath, his head rolled from his shoulders.
A clean slice.
Blood sprayed across the dirt as the soldier's body collapsed beside the girl.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Elric's voice shattered it with a sharp, furious cry:
"It's not a child!"
Kael's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking in horror as the figure before them shifted—her small frame rippling, distorting. The weeping face twisted into something grotesque, a warped mask of shadows and teeth, far from human.
The ambush had begun.