The smell of blood filled the forest. It clung to the air, thick and metallic — every breath burned his lungs. The sound of clashing steel echoed in the distance, mixed with the faint hum of dark chants.
They were surrounded.
Kael's hands trembled as he tried to keep his grip on the sword. His vision was hazy, and his body felt unbearably heavy. The cold from the forest ground crept up through his boots, numbing his legs. Each movement felt like dragging his body through mud.
Behind him, Reinhardt fought with everything he had — the edge of his sword glinting through the shadows.
"Kael, stay behind me!" Reinhardt's voice was sharp, strained, his golden hair streaked with blood. He tried to summon his spear, but the air cracked and dispersed. The mana-blocking seal spread like black threads across the ground. Reinhardt clicked his tongue, grabbing a sword from a fallen soldier instead.
Kael blinked hard. He could barely stand straight, but he couldn't just watch. Not again. Not when Reinhardt was fighting alone because of him.
He stepped forward, his sword shaking in his hands. When the nearest cultist rushed him, Kael forced his arm to move. The blade met the cultist's side — weak, unsteady, but enough to wound. Reinhardt finished the rest, his movements swift and merciless.
Kael barely had time to breathe before another came from the trees. He turned, trying to raise his sword — but his body refused to move. His knees gave out. The edges of his vision darkened.
Then he saw it.
The glint of a dagger.
The cultist lunged.
Kael tried to dodge, but his body didn't respond. The dagger slipped deep into his chest. The pain exploded through him, white-hot, searing. His breath hitched, a choked gasp escaping his lips. The world tilted.
"—KAEL!" Reinhardt's roar tore through the chaos.
Kael felt himself falling. The pain was blinding, but worse than that was the sound of Reinhardt's voice — desperate, breaking.
The cultist twisted the dagger, grinning as blood poured from Kael's wound. Kael's fingers tightened weakly around the enemy's wrist, trying to stop it from going deeper. His hand shook. His sword slipped from his grasp, hitting the dirt with a dull thud.
Reinhardt broke through the last line of cultists, his blade flashing. The next second, the man who stabbed Kael was cut cleanly in half — blood spraying across the forest floor.
Kael staggered, his body already giving way. He didn't even feel himself falling, only the sudden warmth when Reinhardt caught him before he hit the ground.
"Kael! Kael, look at me!" Reinhardt's voice trembled, the command in his tone breaking under the weight of fear. He pressed a hand to Kael's wound, but the blood wouldn't stop. It flowed between his fingers, staining both of them red.
Kael tried to breathe — shallow, ragged gasps. Each inhale hurts. Each exhale grew weaker. The world blurred, colors melting into shadow. He could hear Reinhardt still calling his name, but it sounded so far away.
His vision dimmed.
The only thing he could still feel was the warmth of Reinhardt's arms around him — shaking, desperate, refusing to let go.
And then, silence.
The forest faded to white.
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When Kael opened his eyes, the rhythmic sound of wheels creaking against the uneven road filled his ears. The faint sway of the carriage made him realize where he was. He was lying against the seat, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of herbs and smoke. The view outside the small window was faintly blurred — the early dawn mist still clinging to the horizon.
He blinked slowly. The carriage was empty.
It seemed they had already set out while he was asleep. The distant outline of the city came into view, faint lights flickering like dying embers. For a moment, he tried to push himself up — but his arm trembled violently, his strength slipping away before he could even sit. His body, though healed on the surface, still remembered the pain of being pierced. The memory came back unbidden — the heat of the blade, the choking breath, the darkness that followed.
Kael's breath hitched. His vision blurred for a second as he fell forward, hitting the cold wooden floor of the carriage. He gritted his teeth, but the tremor in his body wouldn't stop. He thought he had already recovered — both in body and in mind. But clearly, he hadn't.
Outside, Elric had been riding alongside the carriage when she heard the thud. Her expression hardened instantly, her reins tightening. Without hesitation, she leapt down and pulled open the carriage door.
"Kael!" she called softly, her voice half a whisper, half panic.
Inside, she found him on the floor, struggling to push himself upright. His pale fingers slipped against the bench, his breath uneven. Without thinking, she climbed in and caught his arm, guiding him back up onto the seat.
"Easy," she murmured, supporting his weight as he sat down. His skin was cold to the touch, his heartbeat faint but steady. She brushed his shoulder gently, patting his back in slow, steady motions — the same way she used to calm a frightened child.
Kael didn't resist. His head slowly lowered until it rested against her shoulder. For some reason, he found comfort there — warmth in the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
"Another nightmare?" Elric's voice was soft, her tone careful.
Kael slowly nodded.
"It is about the one you told me in the dawn?" she asked again, glancing sideways at him.
He was silent for a while, his breath steadying. Then, with effort, he spoke — his voice barely above a whisper.
"In the past… have I ever been killed like that?"
The question made Elric's heart stop for a moment. Her eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and sorrow.
She knew the old Kael — the one who could stand against armies, the one whose name alone brought courage to the trembling. He was rarely hurt, rarely defeated. The only time she had ever seen him close to death was after the battle with the Demon King, when he had returned half-conscious, his body covered in wounds — and two days ago, when that cursed blade from a cultist nearly took him again.
She took a quiet breath and replied gently, choosing her words with care.
"I was not by your side when you fought the demon army," she admitted softly. "But I do know you were strong. I hardly ever heard of you losing a fight."
Her hand moved, finding his. She held it between her palms, her thumb brushing over the faint scars that marked his knuckles.
"This hand… protected many lives," she said with a small smile.
Kael lifted his head slightly, his crimson eyes falling upon the hand she held. The hand of a hero — one that once wielded a sword for the world. But to him, it felt like a stranger's hand now.
So… that was what the old Kael was like.
His gaze dimmed slightly. Then, as he lowered his eyes again, a faint memory surfaced — the last words Licht had told him in that dream.
"Then live as Kael."
A quiet breath escaped him, almost as if that single thought steadied his heart. The trembling in his fingers eased.
Elric noticed it too — the tension leaving his body, the way his shoulders finally relaxed. Relief softened her expression. For a moment, she simply sat there beside him, listening to the sound of the carriage wheels and his faint breathing.
Outside, the sun had begun to rise. The golden light painted the edges of the trees, and ahead, a small town came into view — roofs glinting faintly under the dawn light.
Elric turned toward the window, watching as they drew closer. Then, after a brief silence, she spoke again, her voice lighter this time.
"Kael," she said, glancing at him with a small smile, "your sword… it doesn't have a scabbard, right?"
He looked up slowly, his expression calm but questioning.
"How about we find one in the next town?" she continued, pointing to the silhouette in the distance. "We can take a short rest there. Maybe walk around a bit."
Kael's gaze followed where she pointed — a place unknown to him, unfamiliar and quiet. But then he turned back to Elric, noticing the small spark of hope in her eyes.
"I want to search for something to read, too," he said softly.
Elric's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then curved into a genuine smile. It had been so long since she heard him speak of wanting anything at all.
"Alright," she said warmly. "Then we'll find you something good to read."
The sound of the carriage wheels grew steadier as they neared the town. Elric leaned back, still holding Kael's hand loosely. He didn't pull away.
Outside, morning finally broke through the mist — soft and golden, spilling through the carriage window. For the first time in days, Kael didn't dream of blood or war. The silence between them was peaceful, almost gentle.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had stopped chasing him.
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As Elric had suggested, they made a short stop at the nearest city.
The sun had already climbed higher, and the roads leading into the town were filled with merchants, travelers, and the noise of busy life — a sharp contrast to the silence they had carried since dawn.
Their carriage stopped far from the city gates, hidden among the trees. The banner bearing the Vaelthorn crest was carefully removed and wrapped beneath the seat. No one could know who they were — not in this region, not while rumors still chased their names.
Robert stood outside, his expression half strict, half teasing. With a soft wave of his hand, faint blue light shimmered in the air.
Kael's red eyes slowly turned a calm, deep shade of blue — like a tranquil sea untouched by flame.
"Good," Robert said, examining his handiwork with satisfaction. "That should do. Try not to stare at anyone too long, or they'll think you're cursed."
He then handed Kael a plain gray robe, its hood large enough to shadow his features. The fabric was simple, slightly worn, but thick enough to conceal the faint glow of his skin and the scars along his neck.
"Both of you enjoy your date," Robert said with a smirk, though the warmth in his voice softened the teasing. "We'll keep an eye on you from a distance."
Elric shot him a look that was both amused and threatening. "It's not a date."
Robert only grinned and turned to the guards. "Stay alert. Keep them in sight, but do not follow too close. I want no eyes suspecting who they are."
With everything set, Elric adjusted her cloak and turned to Kael. He had already pulled his hood over his head, silent as always. She carried his sword — its blade wrapped tightly in cloth — and together, they started walking toward the city gates.
The city was lively, filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and the clang of metal from the blacksmiths' quarter. Children ran through the narrow streets, and peddlers called out their wares. Elric walked beside Kael, keeping a careful distance so they wouldn't draw attention.
Their first destination was a swordsmith's shop. She had spotted it while entering the market — a small, aged building with a signboard faded by time. Inside, the scent of oil and steel filled the air.
Kael's eyes — even beneath the hood — widened faintly. He could see countless blades displayed along the walls: swords of every kind and craft, from simple daggers to ornate long blades polished to mirror brightness. The rhythmic hammering from the back room stopped when an old man stepped out to greet them.
"Welcome, travelers," the man said, his voice warm but curious. "What can I help you with today?"
Elric gently placed the wrapped sword on the counter. "We need a scabbard for this sword," she said. "May I see what designs you have?"
"Of course, my lady."
The old man began to unwrap the cloth — but the moment the blade came into view, his expression changed entirely. His breath caught. His hands trembled slightly as the black steel gleamed under the lamplight.
"This…" he whispered, his voice almost reverent. "This blade is… magnificent."
He leaned closer, eyes reflecting the faint red sheen that shimmered when light touched the sword's edge. "I can sense history in this weapon… something ancient."
Kael stood silently, his gaze steady. He didn't move as the man's fingers brushed along the blade — but the sword pulsed faintly in response, the red glow deepening for a heartbeat.
The old man drew his hand back, startled but fascinated. "I've been making blades for fifty years, and I've never seen one like this. Pure black steel… no reflection, no flaw. It almost feels alive."
Elric's fingers tightened slightly around the hilt. "Can you make a scabbard for it?"
The man blinked, then nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course! But it would be a waste to give such a masterpiece a ready-made scabbard. Allow me to craft one worthy of it — something new, something that complements its soul."
Elric hesitated. "We came here only for a short stop," she said gently. "We can't afford much delay."
The man frowned, rubbing his beard as he thought. "I can give you a good discount for my work," he offered quickly. "Please, let me do it. It would be a sin to sheath this beauty in something ordinary."
Elric's eyes softened as she looked at the sword again. She actually preferred a simpler design — something plain, practical, easy to travel with. But when she looked at the old man, she could see the spark in his eyes; the way his fingers twitched with excitement, as though this was the first time in years he had been inspired.
She turned slightly toward Kael, leaning closer until her voice was just a whisper near his ear.
"What about it?" she murmured. "I think the simpler ones are better."
Kael's gaze moved to the sword, then to the old man whose eyes still shone with unspoken passion. He seemed to agree with Elric's thought — simplicity would suffice — but seeing that glimmer in the man's face, something inside him softened.
He didn't speak. But Elric could read the faint look in his eyes — the quiet kind of understanding that didn't need words.
The old man, sensing their hesitation, pressed his hands together. "If you allow me, I can finish it by sunset. I'll use black leather, with crimson thread — something elegant, yet strong enough to match this sword's presence."
Elric exhaled softly. "By sunset, then," she said finally.
The old man's face lit up with joy. "You won't regret it. I'll make sure it's perfect." He carefully wrapped the sword again and carried it to the back room, his movements reverent, as though he were handling something sacred.
When he disappeared behind the curtain, Elric glanced at Kael again.
"Seems like we just made someone very happy," she said quietly.
Kael didn't answer, but his faint nod was enough.
As they stepped out of the shop, the sound of hammers resumed in the distance. The street smelled of iron and spice, and the wind carried the faint hum of life. Elric adjusted her cloak, her expression softer now.
"While we wait," she said, glancing at Kael's hooded figure beside her, "how about we find that book you wanted to read?"
Kael's steps slowed slightly, then he looked ahead toward the bustling marketplace. The morning sun filtered through, warm and golden. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like a hunted shadow — just a man walking beside someone who cared enough to ask what he wanted.