Though his Ein stabilized the house from collapse, shouting and valorous cries were not blocked. Hearing the battle outside, Hector grunted and shut his eyes, feeling the violent emanations of the Ein from the battles. He confirmed that none of them were in danger despite fighting three against one. It was as expected because of their unique strengths, and Hector wondered how they might fare against higher-grade Exalts. He found the attackers to be merely grade twos and threes.
'Ah, why couldn't I go with Helen and Oscar?' Hector grumbled inwardly, munching on the bone in audible crunches. Oscar, Helen, and Auren had departed to spend their money on another wealthier continent, leaving him behind to care after these unruly members. Finishing his meal, he lay on a mat and wished to sleep. 'Can they hurry up and finish it?'
…….
Santen waited patiently as King Sornem raised his claymore over his head, sweeping his gaze over the king's stoic figure. From the deadly Ein enveloping the entire area around him, including where he stood, Santen assumed he would be receiving a final blow, a strike that burned one's life to the fullest for a burst of strength. The claymore shined softly like the moon, glinting like a piece of topaz under the blanket of night. All the Ein that permeated the area converged into the blade as it melded with the king's claymore anima, becoming a rusted claymore, the opposite of the brilliance it showed before.
King Sornem readied the ruined blade, holding it in a piercing stance, ready to stab it forward. A sharp light from refined metal gleamed at its very tip. Santen realized that was where all the Ein had gone into. The king's body visibly withered, the wrinkles deepening and spreading all over his body as the flesh shrank to the bone. Indeed, it was a strike containing all of his Ein, will, and heart, and Santen raised his hands, intent on facing it head-on, which was the only way to show respect to the Exalt's dying blow.
A faint grin lifted from King Sornem's cracked lips, gratitude overflowing from the sunken eyes before a sharp look overtook them, the glare of one fighting with everything he could muster—no words needed to be exchanged. Like a shooting star, the king vanished into a blur of light of which only the traces of its luminous trail could be seen. Not a sound was heard, silent like a lonely night. The bright light enveloped him in a single moment, forcing Santen's eyes shut.
Santen clasped his hands, holding the claymore's destructive thrust between his palms. The sound finally caught up in an uproar of the air's screeching while the winds howled in tumultuous cries to return to their rightful place in the calm, breezy sky. A thin slit, too thin to be called a chasm but too wide not to be distinct, cut across the ground, the shore, and the waves. After a few minutes, the sands rejoined, the waters merged, and the ground crumbled together.
"A fine sword. It would have been a deadly blow if you were not cursed with the birthright of a grade two Exolsia." Santen let go of the claymore, which dangled from King Sornem's weak grip. He glanced at the scorch marks on his palms, surprised to see them injured.
"It truly is a pity. Cursed, we are to live in these lands. Cursed is our blood that never strove to go higher, never granting our progeny a better chance." King Sornem coughed in chuckles and raised his claymore. His arms quivered, and his breathing quickened into the dying gasps of a man at his end. "Now. End it."
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"Farewell, King Sornem. You will forever live on in my memories." Santen lifted his right arm, pointed straight like a spear. He swung once at the king's smiling figure, seemingly more majestic in this weary form. The rusted claymore crumbled into red dust, gone to the breeze, and King Sornem was cleaved in two from the shoulder to the waist. The withered body also turned to dust, leaving no mark of his existence except for the crown that landed in Santen's hands.
He could hear a faint whisper thanking him before it vanished, never to be heard again. With the battle ended, Santen returned to the house and sat outside the entrance, waiting for the others to finish. Later, Marcus floated down, carrying three bodies and lying them orderly on the ground.
"Vented enough?" Santen slowly rotated the crown, eyeing every detail.
"No. That's ten factions that must be punished. I don't want to tell our lord that we lost him a good chunk of the tributes." Marcus wiped his hands and untied his blond hair, sitting beside Santen. "This battle only added more annoyances."
"I'll accompany you. I have to return this." Santen put away the crown and frowned, concerned by how the regions might enter a chaotic time after the death of ten leaders. He couldn't let Marcus carry the burden alone. And out of everyone else, he was the most suitable to handle the matters of diplomacy. They had a brief respite before a lion's roar, accompanied by thunder, enveloped the land, and a cold shower of snow covered the ruins.
Kragg tossed several mangled bodies, barely recognizable anymore, onto the ground and boasted about his kills, swaggering his beastly body toward Astrid, who held up three pale heads covered in a layer of frost. She swung them by their hair and threw them onto the pile of corpses. Before they could start another ruckus, Santen clapped his hands together and said, "Marcus and I will depart to handle the aftermath of their deaths. We entrust that the two of you can protect our home."
"I don't require this oaf as a partner. I, alone, am enough." Astrid waved away Kragg, treating him like a child to chase away. Suddenly, she clutched her chest and gasped heavily. The flame seal that Lord Draven placed on her spread all over her body. Steam hissed from her pores and orifices, her screams becoming muffled by the smoke overflowing from her mouth. Kragg roared in laughter, smacking his knee at her misfortune.
"You need an ally. Restel and Eve are not fighters, so Kragg is your only choice." Marcus didn't go to help her. Neither did Santen. The flame seal erupted because the rampant element inside her threatened to exceed the threshold, a warning she seemed to neglect. Astrid opened her mouth, presumably to retort, but scalding steam hissed out, and she lay limp on the ground.
Without waiting for her to calm down, Santen carried her inside and bid farewell to the others before departing with Marcus. He wrote a list of the ten factions that tried to attack today and circled their locations on the map, deciding on their first destination, the Sornem Kingdom.
…….
Demon was up early and confirmed the locks still latched on the door. His room was small with no windows, the bed filling half the floor. He encouraged his Ein outward and controlled them into a singular Line, his mind weaving it into form and his intent giving it power and purpose. As a small platinum orb was molded into existence, it cracked and fell apart, simply another failure. He found this spell in Saul's space pocket and trained it well to form it with Eirin, but the Line gave him trouble.
For several years, he honed his mastery of Line and Ignyres's primordial flame, yet some spells still escaped his grasp, never falling into his vision of perfection. The platinum orbs broke apart one by one, unable to sustain the powerful Line. He paused and pondered in silence after each failure. The constant failures granted him clarity into the flaws of his spells that he tweaked time and time again.
'If it were Oscar, he'd figure it out quicker than me.' Although Demon was the one first to use the Eirin, it was Oscar who showed a genius level of how to apply Reis and Eirin in various ways. Demon wondered how easily Oscar would have figured this spell out.
"My lord, may I come in?" Caught in his thoughts, someone knocked on the door, and Auren's voice, shy and meek, called out from behind.
"Enter." Demon put on his clothes and armor before unlocking the door from his bed.
Auren bowed and raised his voice in a loud declaration, "We will be landing soon. Lady Helen told me to tell you to come out."
"Right." Demon exited his room. For now, his spell training would have to wait. He needed to spend his money first.