Chapter 11- The Light That Burns, the Darkness That Devours
POV Verdia Solarion
The hot wind swept through the devastated field, carrying the scent of scorched earth and dry leaves from what was once a vibrant, energetic clearing. Now, everything around her was a desolate landscape, reduced to a circle of destruction. The battle, which had raged on for over half a day, had taken its toll. The Hurricane spell, a Saint-level incantation, had been enough to scatter most of the remaining invaders—smugglers and mercenaries who dared attack the elven village. However, it came at the cost of nearly all of Verdia's remaining mana.
Leaning heavily on her staff, her arms trembled, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. The fatigue pulsed through her body, a stark reminder of her limitations. Despite her vast experience and power as a King-ranked mage, she was not invincible. Her body still had the vitality and resilience of her youthful elven years, but mana exhaustion was not something that willpower alone could overcome.
"That was impressive," a voice broke through the heavy silence—calm, yet laced with menace.
Verdia lifted her gaze. About twenty meters away, an old man who looked to be in his seventies or eighties walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. To the untrained eye, he appeared unremarkable: white hair, a deeply wrinkled face, a neatly trimmed beard, and plain clothes devoid of ornamentation. Only the short sword at his side hinted at the danger he posed.
"It's over," the man declared, stopping at the edge of the ruined area. His gaze weighed on her like a blade. "At this distance, killing you is as easy as slaughtering a rabbit. It doesn't matter if you're a Saint-level, King-level, or even Emperor-level mage. All you mages are the same—fragile."
Verdia tried to gather the strength to raise her staff, but she knew it would be futile. This man was no mere mercenary. From what little she could sense, he was at least at Saint rank—more than capable of dispatching a mage before they could even begin a chant.
Drawing on her experience, she quickly pieced together the truth: this man wasn't here by chance. "Who sent you after me?" she asked, her voice hoarse but steady. She needed time—time to think, time to understand. At the very least, she wanted to die knowing why.
The old man smiled, a thin, cold expression. "An important noble from Milis," he said. "Fifty years ago, you and your band of adventurers killed his parents. Do you remember? Oh, of course you don't. You long-lived races always forget the people you crush along the way. But he remembers. He was just a child when you left him alive—a mistake that, in the end, became your undoing."
Verdia felt a pang of recognition. During her adventuring days half a century ago, she had fought countless battles—humans, monsters, other adventurers. The world was cruel, and mercy often came at a cost. She and her party had made decisions they believed were just at the time, but they had never considered the long-term consequences.
"Fifty years..." she murmured, more to herself than to him.