Capítulo 89: Little Prince

The blade of light thrust into the cloaked individual's flesh.

It was a clean cut on the shoulder, powerful enough to pierce through the slender body and exit from the back.

"....Huh?"

The man hadn't moved. He just stood there, facing the strike, accepting it with open arms. His blood, akin to precious rubies, splattered everywhere. On the ground, on his cloak, across the rain, over the prince's face.

One terrified exhale resounded after a pained gasp. The fingers clenching the sword trembled. The man neither dodged nor defended himself, while the prince used all his might out of habit.

The sword that dug into the man's flesh gradually lost its luster. Before Eliot could take it out, the cold touch of shaking fingers on his cheek startled him out of his daze.

"...That's it."

The voice slightly trembling, yet as soft as before. The cloaked man raised his head a bit. A portion of the hood slid back, and a tiny part of his face entered the prince's sight for a fleeting second.

Smooth, dark blue hair. A pale, yet smiling face. And a pair of deep blue eyes fixated on the prince, looking at the boy, peering at him with a bright shine twinkling in the depth of the dark pupils, gazing at him as if staring at a pretty rose, a shooting star, or a lovely kitten, as if watching the most precious creature in the world.

"..."

'What in the...'

The prince drew a gasp. Unbeknownst to him, he stared back at the man. The cold, trembling fingers ran across his face to his short curly hair, only to ruffle them ruthlessly.

"Open your eyes, little prince."

But his eyes were open.

"Look around yourself."

Look around?

Tak. The man lightly pushed Eliot back. As the prince staggered away, a sword passed right where he was standing a split second ago. Through his panicked vision, he saw the black-clad swordsman thrusting his blade at him, his bloodshot eyes peering at the depth of his soul. The slippery mud led him to lose his balance and fall to the ground, rendering him incapable of dodging the upcoming attack aimed at his neck. Even if he had his sword, he doubted he could stop the powerful strike.

"Stop!"

Ian moved in front of his knight as he gave the order. The sword halted midway through, right before sliding the prince's neck.

Gasping, Ian pulled the blade out of his shoulder. Blood splashed everywhere. It gushed out like a crimson river. The pool of water under his feet gradually turned crimson as blood-drenched his already-soaked clothes.

Ian tossed the sword back to its owner.

'Now, let's finish this.'

His job was over. The only thing left was to return back to safety.

But before he could do anything, a sudden gust of wind slapped his face.

Wrooommm

A loud roar echoed in the atmosphere. Startled, everyone looked up. Floating in the air, countless white arrows emerged from thin air. In a fraction of a second, the entirety of the sky was covered in an enormous spell. Breathtaking; and frightening at the same time.

'...Zal?'

Ian could see in the distance, through his blurry vision, a white-haired man flicking his hand. At his command, the magic arrows rained down on the battlefield in an instant.

"Wait, you can't-"

They can't hurt this army. They didn't want to declare a war!

But his voice surely couldn't reach Zal.

"W-what is that?"

"Shields! Put up the shields!"

The panicked knights rushed to do something, but the arrows were faster. Tak. Tak. Tak. A bunch of them shot forward at an immeasurable speed. Even after the monsters in their wake were brutally slaughtered, they didn't stop or slow down. Crashing down, each drilled meters-long holes in the mud and ground.

"...What in the world..."

One arrow landed right before Eliot's feet. If it had fallen an inch to the right, he'd be pinned to the ground. Seeing its might, Eliot's whole body quivered.

But then the attacks stopped.

The arrows still lingered in the air yet they didn't target anyone. Even in the previous attack, no knights were hurt, not even a scratch was left on anyone.

Such precise control over each arrow was almost impossible to attain, and casting such a massive spell wasn't in anyone's scope of imagination.

The battleground was panic-stricken.

It was as if the mage behind the spell was threatening them. 'See my mastery over mana? One wrong move and you'll all be drilled to the ground.'

"...Fall back."

And the prince understood the message quickly enough. He wasn't a crown prince for no reason.

'... Thank god.'

What a relief that Zal was a thoughtful one.

"Gather everyone around. That's enough."

The crown prince gave an order. He stood up and picked up his sword while hesitantly looking at the black-haired swordsman, who was being blocked by the saint, and at the saint that had his back curled, hand pressing over his deep injury.

Looking at the wound, a grimace formed on the prince's face.

"We are retreating. The monsters are all taken care of."

He said as he stepped back.

"But my prince, the attackers-"

"We're leaving!"

With his eyes still on Kieran, Eliot took careful steps backward. He was taught to never turn his back on his enemy.

"Tsk!"

And rightfully enough, the enemy couldn't just sit by and watch him run away.

Teeth gritted, vines popping out his forehead, Kieran shifted his stiff grasp over the sword. His bloodshot eyes were sewn to the prince. His boots stumped on the wet ground as his stance fixed to shoot forward.

"What are you doing?"

Instants before his body dashed forward, a cold voice struck him frozen, bringing chills to his spine. A tone so thorny and intense that his whole body went numb in a second.

"...."

As if hit by a rock in the head, all thoughts ceased from his mind, any actions came to a halt. His instincts instead roared, fear embraced his being.

"...Who did you just draw your sword against?"

Stepping in front of him was a feeble man, half his body drenched by rain, the other soaked in blood. His body trembled, face as pale as a white marble.

Yet his bearing was so immense, so frightening, so sickly painted with bloodlust... as if he was a whole new person.

Not his prince but someone else, someone who's soaked in death, one who's bathed in blood for years.

A 21-year-old slave couldn't possess such an aura.

"Who did you draw your sword against, Kieran?"

He asked once again.

Through the corner of his eyes, Kieran could see the crown prince hurriedly running away. He and his men mounted on their horses, turning around to leave the city.

Kieran barely opened his mouth to utter a response.

"T-the enemy..."

The voice got even colder.

"The enemy? Him?"

Tap. Tap. Tap. The terrifying aura of the man intensified as he stepped closer to Kieran. His body seemed ready to crumble at any second, yet he made his way to stand in front of the black-clad individual's face.

Icy cold fingers wrapped around his, moving his hand, slowly returning his sword back to the scabbard. The action was gentle and calm, yet Kieran's whole body didn't stop shaking a bit.

"Know who you're pointing your blade at."

A statement threatening enough to choke the hearer.

Deep blue eyes stared at the black pupils, void of any emotion, empty of any kind of light. Kieran unknowingly drew a gasp. The saliva he swallowed left a painful trail on his throat. He'd seen many people and faced death many times in his life, he'd gone through much more than one could imagine to attain his current power, but never was he ever put in a helpless situation like this.

"You want revenge, and I said I'll give it to you."

His goal... It was indeed to take revenge. To make those who ruined his life pay the price for their sins.

"I'll give you what you want, Kieran." His league took one step closer. His hands wrapped around Kieran's collar. "But. Two people, Kieran. There are two people whom you should never point your blade at."

Two people.

He knew who the first one was. The little wolf Ian showed him not long ago.

"Harm them just a bit, and it'll be over. For both of us."

He'd do anything to make Kieran pay even if he needed to lose much more.

His prince was gasping and panting, yet his voice didn't quiver a bit. Standing on the tips of his feet, he drew his face closer to the knight. With the same face that held no emotion at all, and with the deep eyes that seemed to see the depth of everyone's soul, he stared at the frozen man's eyes.

"You know I'm not joking."

He wasn't joking.

Yes. He wasn't, indeed.

Ian's lips parted once again, speaking in a low voice, almost whispering.

"So... don't ever point your blade at my brother again."

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