Chapter 327: Promises

Gritting his teeth, Azriel clenched his fist tight—then something flickered at the edge of his vision. Surprise tugged a meaningless smile onto his face as he looked at Mirius.

"No different from you? I understand. You must have loved your wife—so much that, just as I’m going to such lengths to keep my sister alive, you... you made sure she was the last person you ever saw. Her colors were the last thing you allowed into your eyes before you tied on a blindfold, so hers would be the only colors you’d see—until your death."

Mirius’s face hardened.

"...Given you knew my identity, I suppose it’s expected you know about my [Unique Skill]. But who told you why I wear a blindfold?"

He was genuinely perplexed. That Azriel knew of his [Unique Skill] wasn’t surprising; anyone who knew the name Corven Draumirius Zevrak knew his gift—the ability to see emotions, to see feeling itself, as colors.

It had no switch. It never turned off. Some called it a curse. Mirius never had.

He had lived in the radiance of his wife’s love, bathed in her hues, until the end—until her body went cold in his arms and became a corpse. Before those colors faded, he tied the blindfold.

So they would stay with him forever.

That was why he wore it. But Azriel shouldn’t have known. No one should.

Except one man.

The former Dusk King—Valerion Dusk—the one who killed Corven Draumirius Zevrak’s wife.

Azriel said nothing, still wearing that thin smile. Mirius sighed—and then he was simply gone.

He reappeared in front of Azriel.

Oddly, Azriel didn’t move an inch. He stood there, smiling. Inwardly, his heart raced, his throat dry.

Mirius’s breath touched his face; they were inches apart.

"Well, no matter. My secret will die with yours... with your death."

His threat was cold. He began to move—and Azriel spoke, forcing his voice to stay steady.

"We both know that’s not happening."

"What?"

Mirius froze, confused. Azriel stood like a madman before a shark’s jaws, the bite imminent—and yet he looked unfazed.

"You could have killed me the moment I arrived," Azriel said.

"But you didn’t. Because you couldn’t. To do it would mean meeting your wife in death... after breaking the promise you made to her."

Slowly, Mirius’s face stiffened. Azriel’s smile turned crooked. At the same time, the hairs on Azriel’s arms stood up; he concealed the chill running down his spine.

"You promised you wouldn’t kill humans anymore. Isn’t that right—Monarch Slayer?"

Shock rippled through Mirius’s body. He stared at Azriel as if at something impossible.

"You... are you a seer—"

A whistle split the air. He spun—too late. A spear hung inches from his heart. In a blur Azriel couldn’t follow, Mirius thrust out his hand and caught the shaft. The point bit into him, but not deep enough to kill.

Ranni stood there, swaying on her feet, breath ragged, a faint smile on her blood-slick face.

"Funny. I said the exact same thing to him."

He had no time to wrench the weapon free. The unicorn—its heart supposedly pierced—surged upright on all fours and leveled its horn at Mirius. Light pulsed along the horn, a deepening blue, the hum rising faster and faster as it charged.

Mirius’s face went dark—and the blue lance fired.

He moved instantly. Azriel’s eyes widened as the bolt tore past him—then, mid-flight, it knifed left, turning sharply to pursue Mirius as he vaulted into the air.

Like a seeking comet, the blue sphere chased him, unerring. Mirius twisted, slipped, fell and caught himself, each dodge buying a heartbeat as the bolt carved a bright trail through the ruin.

Another dance began: a streak of blue hunting the blindfolded master who did not dare meet it head-on. Even from a demon’s horn, he refused to test it—as if the slightest touch meant death.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion prickled—then widened.

’Don’t tell me... a one-hit kill.’

He swallowed and turned to the unicorn. The soul echo trembled, legs shaking, a pool of black blood spreading beneath it. Its breath rasped.

Even if it had been "only" a demon-ranked thing, the old rule held: never underestimate anything born of the void.

Azriel studied the fading glow still shivering along the horn.

’For a demon to unleash something that forces a Master to flee... it couldn’t have done that on a whim. It must have been charging long before it found me.’

Which meant—

That shot wasn’t meant for Mirius at all.

Not unless that had been Ranni’s plan from the start—no. Knowing her...

’She sent the stupid unicorn to help me. Even though keeping it at her side might have raised her chances—or at least bought her more time.’

She gambled her life on Azriel.

Afraid he might have fallen, she’d sent one of her trump cards away.

’Is she stupid?’

Baffled, he glanced at her. Ranni stood, somehow, a miracle of torn flesh and stubborn will; consciousness clung to her like a thread. Azriel, at least, had a health potion in him. She did not.

Guilt swelled—he crushed it down.

’No. I have to do this. I have to get those tears.’

Without them, the potion would remain a dream.

Ever since FreeWings messed with him at the academy, Azriel had set his sights on one thing: a potion that could save Jasmine if it ever came to that. He had planned it for a long time; that was why, when he returned from the void realm with Joaquin and Jasmine, he chose the feather as his reward. His father hadn’t seen the value. Azriel had. A phoenix potion was priceless—because the future was unknowable. In the book, she lived. Azriel did not. If living this time demanded a "balance" in the Crimson family—if it meant Jasmine had to die—he would never forgive himself.

He wouldn’t survive something like that again.

He had to get those tears.

Whatever it cost.

Whoever it cost.

He would gather every ingredient. He would win today. He would be recognized by the scenario and by every god watching. He would claim his reward, and—

He was not finished with Pollux.

The blue bolt still hunted Mirius, faster and tighter with each pass. The longer it missed, the more furious it grew, as if feeding on its own failure. Mirius knew it too; Azriel saw panic edge his movements. The window for a mistake had closed.

At this speed, one touch would end him.

’Incredible...’

Mirius’s greatest mistake, once again, was underestimating someone weaker than him.

Azriel glanced at the unicorn.

’Its heart was pierced—how is it still alive?’

He looked to Ranni.

’She won’t be able to fight anymore like this.’

Feeling his gaze, Ranni turned and mustered a small, stubborn smile.

Azriel pressed his lips together.

’She really is stupid in the end—like the rest of them. They’re all stupid.’

He forced himself not to bite down and looked back to Mirius, mind racing.

’This... this is an opportunity, isn’t it?’

Ranni had spent her last card on that final shot. Azriel hadn’t. The soul echo’s attack was incredible, but Mirius’s victory was beginning to feel inevitable. No matter how wounded or exhausted he was, that man would not fall so easily.

And he didn’t.

Seconds later, Mirius finally broke one of his own rules—and used a skill.

He swept his hand; a translucent blue disc flared before him. The comet slammed into it. Shield and star exploded together. A gale tore through the clearing, dust booming outward as if the wind had decided to erase them all. Then the rush faded.

’Simple on the surface—but that must have cost a lot of mana..!’

The haze thinned. A high, hateful ringing drowned everything in Azriel’s ears. He looked to where Mirius should have stood—but Mirius was gone.

Azriel snapped his gaze toward Ranni—sure Mirius would move to eliminate the greatest threat—but he wasn’t there either.

Ranni stared at Azriel instead, eyes wide with panic and desperation, her face a mask of blood and grime. The unicorn tossed its head, neighing frantically. She shouted something—at him.

Azriel frowned.

His body screamed.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

Slowly, he looked down. A thick tree branch—one of the shattered limbs not pulverized to dust—jutted from his stomach.

He coughed a mouthful of blood, then let his lips tick upward.

"...What is it with all of us trying to poke holes in each other?"

"Move, and he dies."

Mirius’s voice came from behind him, casual and cold—the warning meant for Ranni frozen ahead.

Azriel felt a hand settle on his shoulder. Mirius walked past him, came to stand in front, and patted that same shoulder with a smile.

’I can’t move... his aura has me locked in place.’

Before Mirius could speak, Azriel forced words through the blood.

"You... why go for me instead of her?"

He had gambled on Mirius finishing Ranni. Instead, the Monarch Slayer chose to kill Azriel first.

Mirius sighed and flicked a glance at Ranni, denying her even a twitch.

"You were making me uneasy. Your words, your actions, your eyes. None of it adds up. If this is just about a potion for your sister, why flash the pocket watch and risk exposure? No one else would have known—you handed me leverage. And you didn’t reveal my identity to Master Ranni until the last instant. You fired a killing shot you knew would miss. You slipped a note to the village chief to evacuate everyone. And you know things about me you shouldn’t. No, no, no—there’s something much bigger you’re playing at. The best move is to pull the rug from under your feet before you do the same to mine."

Azriel looked at him. His strength was seeping away.

"So you break your promise after all—kill me, and you used a skill. Here I thought you truly wanted to die. I was wrong. Just a bluff from a grieving man lying to himself—willing to do anything to live once the walls close in."

Mirius’s reply turned to ice.

"No. I want to die. But it has to be a fight worthy of death. This?" He gestured, disdainful.

"This is a game of chess, and I don’t even know which pieces I still have on the board. I’m not interested in mind games, Prince."

Azriel’s smile thinned and went out. He watched Mirius in silence.

’I’m tired...’

Funny. He was technically asleep, yet he was so, so tired. It felt like months since he had truly rested.

"I see it now," Mirius said suddenly, solemn.

"We really are similar."

"You’re grieving—just like me."

Azriel said nothing. His body cooled as it weakened. Ranni ground her teeth, every muscle drawn taut—about to move.

"Tell me, Prince Azriel." Mirius’s tone softened to a dangerous curiosity.

"I’m not underestimating you anymore. I respect you, even now. You forced me to break my promises. But my instincts warned me in time. I’m curious, though—what am I missing? Will you tell me? Or will you die in silence while your instructor watches, before I kill her as well?"

Azriel coughed again and again, blood spattering across the dirt. Mirius shot Ranni a warning look, only stoking her impatience. Azriel leaned forward as much as he could, restrained by the crushing weight of Mirius’s aura.

He then whispered. His voice was thin and soft.

"I can’t tell you the reasons for every move I’ve made, but..."

He met the blindfolded gaze squarely and managed a weak smile.

"Thank you, Corven—for coming so close to me and still underestimating me."

Mirius looked genuinely confused. In the very next heartbeat, every drop of mana in Azriel’s soul veins burst outward. All of it—every last thread—rushed from him as a storm he could not perceive. His reserves burned at a terrifying pace. Yet as his mana roared free, the crushing aura pinning him shattered. Azriel’s own aura flared around him, a raging, volatile blaze.

Mirius saw it—clearly—though Azriel could not.

Ranni and Mirius both froze, faces gone pale with horror and disbelief.

"Aura...!? How can you use aura as an Expert!?" Mirius shouted, stunned.

The tree branch spearing Azriel’s abdomen splintered to dust under the pressure. He didn’t let up. He kept burning, kept emptying himself. For a split second—a single split second—the weight of his aura locked Mirius’s body in place.

Azriel took that instant and launched forward.

Mirius braced, but before he could read the angle of any strike, Azriel crashed into him, arms clamping tight around his torso.

"Your Highness!?" Ranni cried from afar, but Azriel didn’t hear. His focus was absolute.

He gritted his teeth. So did Mirius, wrenching to tear free—only for Azriel to tighten further. Ice bled across Mirius’s body. Lightning rippled through him in biting pulses.

Azriel cinched himself down and summoned Atropos’ Elegy into his hand.

A chill knifed down Mirius’s spine.

Panic took him. He could not release a single thread of mana.

It felt as though thin, unseen hands were dragging him down—hands rising from the dirt, dozens of them, Azriel’s grip made manifest, pulling and holding. Why? Why can’t he use any mana? His thoughts scattered.

!!!

Desperate, he thrashed. Bones in Azriel’s body cracked under the torque. Skin tore. Then Mirius rammed his forearm through the hole already torn in Azriel—his arm punched clean through Azriel’s stomach.

Four seconds.

On the fifth second, the spectral hands were gone, and with them Azriel’s aura lock. Freed, Mirius moved to rip his arm back—only to realize Azriel would not release him. Muscles knotted; Azriel held on like iron.

Mirius screamed and heaved. Azriel caught his forearm with his one free hand, bloodshot eyes locked to Mirius’s face, and dragged the gun upward. He pressed the barrel to Mirius’s chest.

Feeling the cold metal, Mirius roared—and tore his own arm off to escape, wrenching free in a spray of blood.

Azriel screamed. He pushed himself upright with brutal effort as the severed arm hit the ground, spurting. Mirius’s wound fountained. Azriel swayed, turned, and leveled the gun with an unfocused stare. Mirius raised his remaining arm, cutting across his body like a blade.

By the seventh second, Ranni was between them.

An invisible line opened across her torso, hip to shoulder—and a white round tore through her stomach, then hissed on into Mirius’s guard, took his wrist, and annihilated it. His last hand fell to the ground.

He jumped back on instinct—too late.

Blood burst.

He screamed—long and raw.

Ranni collapsed at the same time.

Azriel’s body moved on will alone. He walked. Swayed. Staggered past Ranni’s fallen form, bent, and lifted the severed hand. He swayed again, then planted his feet and stood, breathing raggedly, eyes dull.

He stripped the ring from the finger and let the hand drop.

"I... didn’t... mean to miss this time," he said hoarsely—to no one, or to everyone.

Cold seeped into him. He shivered; it felt as if his own ice affinity had finally turned against his flesh.

Mirius groaned, dropped to one knee, teeth clenched against the pain. Even with everything he had already endured, this made him falter.

Azriel’s vision steadied. He took a few steps, and his gaze fell to Ranni. Starlight washed her face.

Her breath thinned.

"Why...?" Azriel rasped.

Her lashes trembled. She pried her eyes open, found him, and gave a fragile smile before coughing blood.

"...You... you’ve broken the spell already, Your Highness. If you die this time... you will truly die."

Azriel let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

"Right... but why give your life for mine?"

Through the agony, her look warmed.

"The children who deserve a real future... You are one of them, Your Highness."

He looked at her. Blood leaked from his body; his hands trembled. His eyes, half-lidded, opened wider and shook at her words.

"You... really are a stupid idiot."

Guilt washed over him again.

A part of him whispered:

Let her die.

Another answered:

Save her.

At the same time, Azriel was dying—dying on his feet. His heartbeat slowed. Cold crept deeper and deeper into him as [Eidolon Flesh] burned through the last droplets of mana to stitch him together.

But... wasn’t it better to let her die? Because, like Mirius, Azriel would have to break a promise to Ranni if they were to win.

The hard choice.

He had lied when he promised their fight would claim no lives. If he hadn’t discovered that the little girl was the source of Pierre’s invincibility, he would have razed the village and everyone in it. Even knowing it now, he would still have to kill that girl.

And if Ranni was going to die anyway—looking at the state of all three of them—

Perhaps it would be easier to just...

kill them all.

Break his promise.

Meanwhile, Mirius’s bleeding slowed. The flow stopped; he was stabilizing.

Azriel looked at him, and something in his pale face darkened.

’Ah...’

This was it.

’I’m not going to win by killing him.’

After everything—after all this blood and ruin—the best he had done was take an arm and a hand. What did it matter? Mirius’s heart still beat. He wasn’t weaker for losing his arms; he had held back all along, using only his body and his soul echoes. And now? Now he would break every rule he’d set for himself to kill Azriel.

It was over.

Azriel didn’t have enough mana left to use his sword arts—and even if he did, he couldn’t unveil them in front of people, especially participants. He had no idea whether the gods would recognize, or grow even more suspicious, if they saw

Dance of Death

.

Subtly, Azriel slipped Mirius’s storage ring into his own, then drew out a simple remote—one device, one black button.

Just as Mirius would not keep his promise to his wife...

’I couldn’t keep my promise to Jasmine. To... myself.’

Then Azriel frowned. They weren’t alone—not just the unicorn, which lay on the ground again, breathing hard, unable to rise after that attack. No... there was still a Grandmaster here. As his senses crept back, Azriel knew exactly who it was. He remembered him. He had seen him.

So—

’Promises... how far are we willing to go to keep them?’

His vision flickered. The fact that he still stood was nothing but will, miracles—and will again.

Mirius looked up and saw the remote.

"...What is that? Another trump card? Seeing as you’re not using the gun anymore, I assume it’s finally out of bullets that could kill me... and you sure as hell don’t have the mana left to use aura—even if that should be impossible for an Expert."

Slowly, Mirius pushed himself upright on his legs. Azriel tried to smile and failed. He spat blood instead and said, voice dry:

"I’m going to make a deal with all of you."

He raised the remote... and pressed the button.

Mirius studied the remote, suddenly serious. Then he noticed the frost creeping from the tip of Azriel’s finger over the button—ice blooming across the casing, as if he were freezing the device in place.

"What are you doing? What do you mean by ’a deal with all of you’?" Mirius asked, cautious now. Azriel looked like a man at the edge of a cliff, ready to topple, but Mirius would not make the mistake of stepping close—or underestimating him—again.

"As of this moment," Azriel said, voice flat, "there are dozens of mana bombs placed through the underground tunnels."

"...!"

Behind him, Ranni’s eyes went wide. Mirius, too, stared, stunned.

"You want to break your promise, Corven? Then go all the way. Kill me. The moment I die, this ice stops suppressing the remote’s signal—and the bombs detonate. You won’t just kill me. You’ll kill every soul in this village. Young and old, all gone. Whatever held you here, will vanish with them. And after I’m dead—and the villagers—you’ll still have to finish off Master Ranni, who can’t even stand. Tell me, how will you face your wife in death after that? After slaughtering innocents just to reach me?"

A terrible silence fell. The wind howled through the broken trees.

Azriel’s body trembled, but his hand never left the device. He kept the ice steady, feeding it, holding the mechanism shut.

"Or," he said, "you walk away. I have your ring. You have leverage on me. But once you leave, I’ll reveal you to the world. Who do you think they’ll believe? The word of a traitor presumed dead, or a prince? My rumors against your past glories won’t give a traitor much weight. Choose wisely, Corven. Choose how you mean to meet your departed wife."

For the first time, the words truly angered Mirius. He ground his teeth, containing the urge to kill Azriel where he stood.

"You’re lying," he said at last.

"I’m calling your bluff. There’s no way you planted bombs throughout the tunnels. And you’re not the sort to murder every life in this village out of spite."

Azriel’s mouth curved, just barely.

"You’re right. I didn’t plant them. Princess Veronica did."

"What...?"

Both of them stared.

"When I broke her hands," Azriel continued, "I slipped a storage ring between her fingers before I crushed them shut. Inside were the bombs—and instructions. By now she’s followed them and seeded the tunnels. If you want to call my bluff, be my guest. But I don’t lose, and Veronica hates you more than she hates me."

Mirius’s face went pale and dark at once. He took a half step back, thin threads of blood still dripping from the stump of his wrist.

"No. I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t sacrifice her life."

Azriel let out a thin laugh.

"You were right that I’m not like the others. But we great clans share one thing, Corven."

He coughed blood and swallowed hard.

"If someone hits us, we hit back—no matter the time, the cost, or the sacrifice."

Mirius pressed his lips together. He knew it was true.

"The other two cadets with her won’t allow it," he said.

"Not with her hands crushed."

"You know damn well she could be blindfolded like you, hands broken, and still dismantle those two, then place every bomb. You know the difference between someone forged by a lifetime of training and a pair of deluded children who want to be heroes."

If he’d had fists, Mirius would have clenched them.

"Your... Highness... don’t... please," Ranni whispered behind them.

Azriel’s face went cold; he did not turn.

"I warned you from the start, Instructor—never let your emotions get in the way of what must be done. I warned you again when we entered this forest: don’t get attached. I allowed you to do what you wanted, but actions have consequences. So extend me the same courtesy. Let me take mine."

Ranni ground her teeth and tried to rise, failed, and sagged. Her wounds were too grievous. She was going to die soon.

Mirius suddenly laughed.

Azriel looked up. Mirius laughed again, wheezing, flecks of blood on his lips.

"So that’s it. You planned to blow this village from the very beginning, didn’t you? Whether on your last heartbeat or after defeating me, it ends with everyone dead. And since even Master Ranni didn’t know—and given your paranoia about keeping your sister alive, and the simple fact that

something

in this village kept you circling it before coming to me—there’s only one answer."

Mirius smiled, bleak and certain.

"The important thing in this village... it’s human, isn’t it?"

"It is."

Azriel didn’t deny it.

"But you’ve lost your chance at the prize in this village, Corven. Walk away—or everyone dies because of you."

"No. No, no!" Mirius snapped. "How is this on me? I might break my promise by killing you, but the deaths of these villagers won’t be on my hands. They’ll be on yours—only yours!"

"It would be, if there were no alternative," Azriel said. "But I’m offering you one. Walk away—gracefully, while you still can. No one has to die if you leave. If you refuse and kill me, then it’s on you alone. In the end, you’ll prove you can’t keep your promises. You’ll be the same as the great clans and their pride."

Ranni stared at Azriel, desperate and helpless. Her wounds wouldn’t knit fast enough to move. Everything here balanced on Azriel and Mirius.

Mirius’s scowl deepened, anger simmering to a boil. "You’re insane. Completely insane."

"I’m not insane. But sanity demands that I do insane things."

"...What does that even mean?"

"Walk away. Or everyone dies."

Azriel coughed blood. His vision flickered. He lost his balance and dropped to one knee, coughing again.

Mirius laughed once, harsh.

"What’s the point? You won’t survive those wounds. Even if I walk away, you’ll die soon and lose control of that button—everyone will be dead before I even reach the tunnels."

Azriel let out a thin, mirthless chuckle.

"I told you I was making a deal with all of you—not just you."

Mirius frowned.

"With Master Ranni?"

"No," said another voice.

"With me."

""!!""

They turned—everyone but Azriel—to the speaker:

an old man.

"I suspected you were still watching," Azriel said, eyes never leaving Mirius.

"A Grandmaster..." Mirius’s voice trembled. Ranni’s face collapsed into helpless dread.

"What are you offering me?" the old man asked. He looked only at Azriel’s back, expression unreadable.

"The fact that you’re here means you still have a heart," Azriel replied, "and you care about these villagers enough not to gamble with their lives."

The presence behind him tightened. Mirius tensed. Azriel hurried on.

"If you use your aura on me, I lose focus. The ice drops, the remote signals, and everyone dies. If you kill me, the same. I have a healing skill, but with wounds like these it needs mana I don’t have. And now that I’m feeding what little remains into the ice to suppress the remote, you have... two minutes, more or less, before I drop dead and the bombs go off."

"Then state your terms," the Grandmaster said.

"What else? Give me a health potion. If your alchemists are as good as you claim, give me one to heal me—and one to heal her." He nodded toward Ranni.

"Do that, and I’ll hold the ice long enough for you to evacuate everyone and remove the bombs."

"What about him?" The old man meant Mirius.

"If he decides to kill me, you’ll have no choice but to protect me and kill him first. Or he walks away—and that’s that."

"Very well," the Grandmaster said.

"I accept."

Mirius looked from the old man to Azriel, then to the storage ring on Azriel’s finger. He laughed—low, bitter.

"Well played. But this isn’t over."

"Oh, I know," Azriel said.

"Because Lioren and I have things to settle. And you, Corven—you’ll be the prize. Good luck. You’ll need it. When this is done, everyone will be hunting you."

Mirius ground his teeth, shame burning through the pain. He cast them one last look—

—and ran.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"He ran...? Just like that? It’s... it’s over?" Ranni whispered behind him.

Azriel kept his gaze fixed on the darkness where Mirius had vanished. Even after the figure was gone, he stared a moment longer. For a heartbeat his thumb eased on the remote—almost. Almost, he let himself breathe.

"We... underestimated him... too much," he said at last.

"This was... the best I could make on the... spot."

Ranni looked at him, a myriad of emotions crossing her bloodstained face.

"What stops me from killing you both after I’ve dealt with the bombs?" the old man asked behind him.

Ranni’s jaw tightened as she glared at the newcomer, but Azriel didn’t turn. His voice was calm, and it carried no hint of pleading.

"You wanted... to speak with me, didn’t you? I want the... same. So hurry—give her and me the health potions. You and I have... a conversation long overdue..."

Azriel turned his head, muscles stiff, the veins around his eyes twitching as though they might burst. His gaze burned red, bloodshot, quivering with a fury that seemed to rot him from the inside. Every breath came sharp, poisoned by the disgust twisting in his chest, by the loathing that crawled through his skin like fire under flesh. His eyes—raw, seething, merciless—spat nothing but hatred, and all of it was directed... towards the grandmaster.

"...Marquis Rossweth."