Chapter 113: The Tales of Cinder [7]
The light slammed against the ground with overwhelming force, sending thin strands of radiance weaving through the roots of the shield that refused to yield to the sun’s devastating power.
The protection shook violently, making the dark elf’s hands tremble, yet he could only smile calmly.
With an elven whisper, Monar granted the light of his own mana—spreading through the surroundings with its faint green hue—to reinforce and grow more roots where the others had burned away. That way, the shield could hold as long as the attack lasted.
Azel was helping, carrying Marco while holding up one of the walls that looked like it might collapse at any moment.
’Our lives depend on a single combined attack...’
Pulling that off would be difficult. He didn’t know the others deeply enough, and their synchronization in battle could easily falter. What happened earlier was proof of that.
Leaning his back and both hands against the branches, he closed his eyes to focus.
’I don’t want to die; no one here wants to die. Everyone’s giving it their all to get out of this kingdom alive. And me too! But I’m far too weak compared to them.’
He opened his eyes and looked at them.
’They...’
Marco was a great swordsman who didn’t need to learn magic to master the blade. His movements were always aggressive, yet perfectly coordinated to defeat his enemies. The only thing he needed to become the strongest was to stand alongside his friends.
Azel wasn’t far behind. Even as just an archer, he was willing to sacrifice himself if it meant saving the others. His strongest arrow reflected the nature of his heart perfectly—spilling his own blood to bring those beside him closer to victory.
And Monar... what could be said about this old elf? He was extraordinary in every possible way. He possessed a vast arsenal of spells and had the support of a mysterious god known as the Lord of Green. He remained calm most of the time and was someone who didn’t wish for enemies, because, in his eyes, everyone was a potential friend.
Mitsuki couldn’t feel anything but admiration for them. Even in moments like this, they stood united like true friends who protected each other through good and bad.
He had never had something like that, so it was hard for him to understand that unconditional bond that tied them together in battle. He tried to understand them as he watched, and wondered: beyond physical or magical strength, was there something else that made them strong?
So he thought about himself and what made him strong—but found nothing beyond the hollow shell of a man behind a screen. Yes... there was nothing that made him "strong."
’They’re strong... but I...’
He already knew. There was no need to think about it any further. Everything he had was just the push of a strange system, but that was only raw power—useless for matters of the heart.
And yet...
’I can try to be.’
He didn’t need a title to tell him what he could or couldn’t do, nor skills that only made him think about how to use them. Trying to be strong, standing on the edge of death, was the only thing he could do.
Life had pushed him into this.
It wasn’t his own choice.
It wasn’t some simple thought or revelation of fate.
The life he had tried so hard to escape was now screaming at him to move forward—even if it meant death.
’I’ll do it...’
He clenched his fists and frowned. Looking closely, he found Marco, who was getting back to his feet to grip his sword.
Monar let out a soft laugh. Even as blood painted his face with tragedy, he smiled to give them hope.
"I want all of you to get ready," said the elf.
After his smile came a resolute and courageous expression that marked the next stage of the battle.
"The power of the princess’s spell is gradually decreasing, so I need you to listen before we return to the fight. My next spell is related to witchcraft. The plan is to summon the essence of one of the primordial demons to infuse our souls with its wrath and strength, triggering a powerful frenzy in our bodies. My eyes will be the offering, so I’ll be blinded and will need to remain still."
Mitsuki thought that, like Azel, Marco would bring up the madness caused by the spell—but his face showed nothing but powerful conviction and a determined silence.
Monar continued.
"But don’t worry. Just because I won’t have eyes doesn’t mean I won’t be able to see. Right now, I’m maintaining the roots I spread throughout this place. I figured they’d be useful to understand what’s happening from every possible angle—and they truly are."
"We’ll also be affected by the madness, Monar," Marco said.
Monar shook his head.
"You won’t. I’ll be the pillar that shields you from the blasphemies of the ancient demons that still lie dormant, waiting for the day they return. I’ll bear it all, and you’ll fight for me. So focus. Marco and Mitsuki will take the front. I want you to fight as one—your movements flowing in harmony every time you strike, without equal. Azel will have the hardest task."
The archer nodded, accepting his role without hesitation.
"I want you to fire as many blood arrows as you can. I’ll take care of sharing my blood with you and regenerating it to a certain extent."
Azel nodded again.
Nervous, still weighed down by his earlier thoughts, Mitsuki positioned himself to Monar’s right. Marco took the left side, and Azel stayed behind them all, looking at his wrist, ready to let his blood flow.
The beam of light began to flicker, gradually fading over the next two seconds. When it finally vanished, the Lady of Ash stood completely unharmed, one knee on the ground and the other bent.
Now, crimson flames adorned the tips of her hair, and glowing magma-colored cracks spread across her fractured gray skin, pulsing like a faint breath.
The small sphere of branches, which had mysteriously spread throughout the battlefield, trembled.
A crack echoed and—
[ The world has begun to tell a story. ]