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The moment the gates of Blackthorne Manor shattered beneath the infernal blast, the world seemed to tilt off its axis.
The impact tore through the entrance hall. Stone burst apart in jagged fractures, marble pillars split beneath the force, and the vaulted ceiling groaned overhead.
Dust and fragments of crystal rained across the floor, scattering over the bloodied marble.
Smoke rolled through the ruined entrance, carrying the stench of scorched stone and burning wood. Beneath it, I could hear the faint crackle of magic still clinging to the shattered defenses.
I struggled to draw a steady breath.
A few days ago, I had barely understood the first principles of mana sensing.
Father had explained how to quiet my thoughts, how to distinguish the flow of mana around me from the energy circulating within my own body.
I had managed to grasp the basics, but my perception remained crude and unreliable.
Now, with the manor trembling around me, I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.
I reached toward the western entrance, searching for the source of the flames.
The response nearly overwhelmed me.
Seven distinct presences stood beyond the shattered gates. Their mana pressed against my senses with such intensity that I instinctively recoiled.
I had felt nothing comparable before—not from the Hunters whose battles I had watched in recordings, nor from the powerful figures whose names filled the Association's reports.
Only Father had ever made me feel anything close to this.
And even then, I had never sensed him like this.
I opened my eyes.
Seven silhouettes stood at the threshold, framed by the burning night beyond them. Flames crawled across the broken stone behind their backs, casting long shadows through the smoke.
The National Class Hunters had come.
Under ordinary circumstances, their arrival at Blackthorne Manor would have been cause for celebration. They had visited before, gathering beneath our roof for private banquets and occasional celebrations after successful expeditions.
I had seen them exchange drinks with Father, argue over old battles, and laugh as though the weight of their reputations meant little once they stepped inside our home.
I had never imagined seeing them arrive like this.
Their expressions were cold. Their weapons were ready. None made the slightest effort to hide the destruction they had brought with them.
Whatever had brought them here, it had nothing to do with friendship.
They weren't simply attacking the Blackthorne family.
They had come for something buried deeper than our name—something tied to the legacy our ancestors had left behind.
I didn't know what that legacy truly contained.
But judging by the ruin around me, they were willing to burn our home to claim it.
A sudden movement beside me drew my attention.
Mother had pulled me behind the remains of a fallen column. One arm encircled my chest, holding me close as she kept her gaze fixed on the intruders.
Seraphina Blackthorne.
Her silver hair, usually immaculate, had been singed at the ends. Soot darkened one side of her face, and a thin sheen of sweat glimmered along her brow. Yet the hand resting against my shoulder remained steady.
I could feel her breathing.
It was faster than usual, each breath controlled with an effort she was trying to conceal.
I hated that my heartbeat seemed to follow hers.
Not because I wanted to be away from her.
Because every time her breathing faltered, something inside me tightened with the terrible possibility that I might lose her.
“Stay behind me,” she whispered.
I nodded, unable to find the words to answer.
Across the hall, the smoke began to part.
A man stepped through it.
He moved without hurry, his footsteps almost inaudible against the fractured marble. Twin daggers rested in his hands, their curved blades reflecting the firelight in pale, crescent-shaped glimmers.
Dorian Nightshade.
The Silent Reaper.
I knew his name from the Association's records. He was renowned for his assassination techniques, a Hunter whose greatest strength lay not in overwhelming his opponents with raw power, but in ending a fight before they understood it had begun.
I had read accounts of his missions.
I had never expected to see him standing inside my home, looking at my mother as though she were merely another obstacle to remove.
His purple eyes settled on me for an instant.
Then he looked at Seraphina.
“Stand aside,” he said. “This doesn't concern you.”
Mother slowly released my shoulder.
For a moment, I thought she might answer him. Instead, she reached toward her dimensional pocket and drew her sword.
The blade emerged in a faint shimmer of violet light. A jade pendant hung near its hilt, its surface pulsing with a subdued glow that seemed to answer the mana gathering around her.
She rose to her feet.
There was no dramatic flare of power, no declaration of her rank. She simply stepped between Dorian and me, placing herself directly in the path of his blades.
“You will not touch him.”
Her voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
Dorian's expression barely changed. Only the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his irritation.
Then he moved.
I almost failed to follow him.
One moment he stood several paces away. The next, he was closing the distance with a speed that made the space between us seem to disappear.
His right dagger drove toward Mother's chest. The second swept lower, angled to catch her beneath the ribs if she tried to evade the first.
Mother shifted her footing.
It was a small movement, one I might not have noticed if I hadn't spent the morning watching Father correct my stance. She turned her toes outward, drew her rear foot back, and lowered her center of balance.
Then her sword flashed.
“Lunar Prism!”
Violet light erupted along the blade.
A concentrated arc of moonlight surged toward Dorian, illuminating the smoke between them. For an instant, the entire hall seemed washed in silver.
Dorian twisted in midair.
His body turned sharply around the line of the attack, and his dagger struck the spell's edge. The condensed light shattered against the blade, scattering into fragments that flickered across the marble like fallen stars.
He landed behind Mother.
Silently.
I barely had time to turn my head before his daggers crossed in a deadly arc toward her back.
Mother pivoted.
The movement was so swift that her silver hair swept around her shoulders in a pale blur. Her sword met the crossing daggers with a violent clash, sending sparks skittering through the dust.
The force of the impact drove her half a step forward.
She held her ground.
For the first time, I understood something I had never fully appreciated about my mother.
Her strength had always existed in the background of my life. I knew she was powerful.
I knew that Father trusted her judgment and that the senior members of our household treated her with a respect that went beyond her position as the family head's wife.
But I had never seen her fight like this.
She was not simply defending herself.
She was keeping a National Class Hunter from reaching me.
And she was holding him back.
Mother's sword swept across Dorian's guard, forcing him to retreat. Before he could regain his footing, she extended her free hand.
Silver light gathered around her fingers.
The air rang with a faint, crystalline note.
Then chains burst into existence.
They streaked across the hall, winding around Dorian's wrists before he could fully evade them. More followed, coiling around his ankles and pulling tight with a flash of violet light.
“Bind.”
The word struck the hall with the weight of a command.
Dorian twisted violently, trying to tear himself free. His muscles tensed beneath his clothing, and the daggers in his hands flashed as he attempted to cut through the restraints.
The chains held.
Their light intensified, each link glowing brighter as the magic tightened around him.
Mother's expression hardened.
For the first time since Dorian had entered the hall, he looked genuinely alarmed.
“Impossible—”
The chains contracted.
A sharp crack rang through the ruined entrance.
Violet radiance engulfed him, swallowing his unfinished words. His figure dissolved within the light, breaking apart into drifting ash that scattered across the fractured marble.
Then the glow faded.
The chains vanished.
Dorian Nightshade was gone.
I stared at the empty space where he had stood.
My mind struggled to catch up with what I had witnessed.
A moment earlier, he had been attacking my mother with the precision of a man who had spent his life perfecting the art of killing.
Now there was nothing left of him but a faint haze of ash settling over the floor.
Mother remained still for several seconds, her sword lowered but not sheathed.
Only when she was certain he would not rise again did she turn toward me.
She approached and brushed a smear of dust from my cheek with her free hand.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
The word came out weaker than I intended.
Her eyes searched my face, making certain I was telling the truth. Then she placed a hand against the back of my head and drew me briefly toward her.
“Good.”
I wanted to ask her how she had done it. I wanted to ask why one of the world's most renowned Hunters had come to our home intending to kill us, and why the others stood outside as though the destruction of the Blackthorne estate were an ordinary matter.
Most of all, I wanted to know why no one had come to help.
We lived in the heart of the city. The Association had offices, Hunter guilds maintained headquarters nearby, and the authorities were well aware of the people who lived behind these walls.
Yet no reinforcements had arrived.
No police had forced their way through the streets.
No one had appeared to stop seven National Class Hunters from laying siege to our home.
Were they unable to reach us?
Had the attack happened too quickly?
Or was someone ensuring that we would face this alone?
I had no answers.
Mother's hand tightened around my shoulder.
“Stay close to me, Lucian.”
I looked up at her.
There was a promise in her voice, but beneath it I heard something else—something she was trying very hard not to let me recognize.
Fear.
Not fear for herself.
Fear for me.
I swallowed the questions gathering in my throat and nodded.
Across the ruined hall, the clash of weapons rang out beneath the remnants of a shattered crystal chandelier.
I turned toward the sound.
Father stood amid the destruction, his dark coat shifting around him as he faced Gideon, the Sword Saint.
Maximilian Blackthorne.
The Dark Emperor.
Even from a distance, his presence was unmistakable. The shadows around him moved like living things, gathering at his feet and trailing behind his steps.
His opponent's blade flashed through the smoke, each strike carrying enough force to split the already damaged marble beneath them.
Father met the assault without retreating.
He did not move with the frantic speed Dorian had used against Mother. His movements were measured, almost economical, as though he could see the shape of the entire battle and had no need to hurry toward its conclusion.
For one brief moment, watching him brought back the familiar feeling I had always associated with my father.
As long as he was there, the Blackthorne Manor could not fall.
Then Gideon's sword struck the floor, and the entire hall shuddered beneath the impact.
The illusion of safety broke.
I tightened my hands at my sides.
Mother had defeated Dorian, but the other Hunters were still here. Father was occupied, the manor's defenses were failing, and I still had no idea what they wanted from our family.
Whatever happened next, I could no longer pretend this was a battle that would pass over me.
I was standing in the middle of it.
And I was utterly unprepared.
Across the ruined hall, Father stood facing Gideon Silversword, the Sword Saint.
For a moment, neither man moved.
Gideon was a legend in his own right. As the leader of one of the world's largest Hunter guilds, he had built his reputation through countless battles, including the slaying of a dragon with a single strike.
The sword in his hands, Celestial Aether, shimmered with divine energy, its polished edge humming beneath the weight of the power it contained.
Yet Father showed no sign of being impressed.
Maximilian Blackthorne stood with his weight settled evenly, his left foot slightly ahead of his right. His dark cloak stirred around his legs, though no wind passed through the hall.
Two black blades rested in his hands, their edges swallowing the light rather than reflecting it.
He looked almost relaxed.
That was what frightened me most.
The pressure radiating from the two men had become so intense that I struggled to draw a full breath. My chest felt constricted, and the mana I had been trying to sense earlier now seemed like an ocean raging against the fragile limits of my perception.
I pressed one hand against the broken pillar beside me.
Even so, I couldn't look away.
I had watched recordings of National Class Hunters fighting monsters powerful enough to threaten entire cities.
I had read the reports, studied their techniques, and listened to people speak of their accomplishments as though they belonged to a world beyond ordinary human understanding.
But none of those recordings had prepared me for the sight before me.
This was the Sword Saint standing against the Dark Emperor.
And neither man had yet taken a step.
Then Father moved.
His left foot slid forward, barely disturbing the dust beneath it. Both blades left their sheaths in one fluid motion, their dark edges tracing a pair of thin lines through the smoke.
The movement was so smooth that, for an instant, I barely understood what I had seen.
A breath later, the hall erupted.
“**Obsidian Genesis.**”
Father swept his right blade through the air.
A crescent of black fire burst from its edge, shadow twisting through the flames as the attack tore across the hall. It travelled low, racing toward Gideon's legs with enough force to carve a furrow through the marble in its path.
The air screamed.
Gideon reacted immediately.
He planted his rear foot, turned his hips, and brought Celestial Aether down in a powerful diagonal stroke.
The two attacks collided.
BOOM!
The shock wave struck the hall like an invisible hammer.
Marble fractured beneath their feet. Broken pieces of flooring leapt into the air, and the remaining crystal fixtures rattled overhead.
The black crescent broke apart in a storm of sparks and shadow, while divine light flared along Gideon's sword.
For the first time, the Sword Saint was forced backward.
His boots scraped across the fractured floor, leaving two pale trails in the dust before he managed to halt his retreat.
I stared.
He had blocked Father's attack.
He had even dispersed it.
Yet the force behind that single strike had driven one of the world's most powerful Hunters several paces backward.
And Father hadn't even advanced.
Gideon tightened his grip around Celestial Aether. The light running along its blade intensified, spreading from the hilt to the tip until the entire weapon shone like a fragment of the heavens.
“You haven't changed, Maximilian,” he said, his voice carrying across the hall. “Still relying on overwhelming force.”
Father tilted his head slightly.
“Then you should have prepared for it.”
Gideon's expression hardened.
He launched himself forward.
This time, he didn't meet Father's power head-on.
He shifted his approach, changing the angle of his sword halfway through the advance. Celestial Aether swept toward Father's shoulder, only to reverse into a thrust aimed at his chest.
The movements were precise, each transition flowing into the next without wasted effort.
I could barely follow them.
Father could.
He turned aside the first strike with his left blade. His right blade caught the second, redirecting it just far enough that the point of Celestial Aether passed beside his ribs.
Gideon changed direction again.
A third strike came from below.
Father stepped across its path, bringing himself inside Gideon's reach. For a fraction of a second, the Sword Saint's long blade was too close to his body to be used effectively.
Father's sword flashed.
Steel screamed.
The edge struck Gideon's vambrace, splitting the protective armor and sending fragments spinning across the floor.
Gideon twisted away before the follow-up could reach him, but not quickly enough to avoid a shallow cut across his upper chest.
A thin line of blood darkened the fabric beneath his armor.
Father stood where he had been, his expression unchanged.
I forgot to breathe.
Gideon Silversword had slain a dragon with a single strike. He commanded one of the largest Hunter guilds in the world. His swordsmanship had earned him a title that few could even dream of challenging.
And Father had drawn blood from him with a single counterattack.
No elaborate spell.
No prolonged exchange.
Just one opening, recognized and punished before Gideon could recover.
I had always known Father was powerful.
I had simply never understood what that meant.
Gideon glanced at the cut, then raised his eyes toward Father. The divine light around Celestial Aether grew brighter, illuminating the lines of strain around his mouth.
“You intend to make a point,” he said.
“No,” Father replied. “I intend to end this.”
The shadows around his feet began to spread.
At first, I thought the torches were dimming.
Then I realized the darkness was moving against the light.
It crept along the marble in thin, shifting tendrils, slipping beneath broken furniture and climbing the walls. The shadows gathered around Father's boots before rising behind him like a cloak without a body.
My skin prickled.
The pressure in the hall changed.
Until that moment, I had felt the overwhelming force of two powerful Hunters colliding. Now, it seemed as though something vast had opened its eyes beneath the manor.
My mana sensing faltered.
I couldn't distinguish Father's aura from the darkness spreading around him. They had become one and the same, so immense that my mind struggled to comprehend where his presence ended and the surrounding shadows began.
Father raised his blade.
“**Midnight Veil.**”
The torches went out.
Every single one.
Darkness swallowed the hall.
It wasn't ordinary darkness. It was not the simple absence of light that followed a snuffed flame.
It pressed against my eyes and senses, thick and unnatural, smothering even the faint glow of magic left in the shattered walls.
For a moment, I couldn't see my own hands.
Then I heard Gideon move.
His boots struck the marble. Celestial Aether whistled through the air, sweeping in a broad arc that sent a burst of divine light across the darkness.
The glow lasted only an instant.
Something struck his sword.
Clang!
The sound rang out from his left.
Gideon turned and swung, but his blade met nothing.
A second metallic impact followed from behind him.
Then another.
Father was moving through the darkness.
I couldn't see him. I could barely sense him. Y
et the sounds gave me fragments of the battle: the whisper of a blade passing close to Gideon's armor, the scrape of steel against stone, the sharp click of a weapon meeting a defensive guard.
Gideon fought back with everything he had.
His sword carved brilliant arcs through the blackness, each swing carrying enough divine energy to illuminate the surrounding walls.
He turned to meet attacks that seemed to come from every direction, shifting his stance and guarding his blind spots with the instinct of a veteran who had survived battles that would have killed lesser Hunters.
But he never struck Father.
Not once.
Every time Gideon committed to an attack, the darkness seemed to swallow the space where his opponent should have been. Every time he adjusted his defense, a blade whispered past the other side.
It was as though Father knew the precise instant Gideon would move before the Sword Saint himself had decided.
I felt a chill travel down my spine.
This wasn't simply speed.
It wasn't even a matter of superior swordsmanship.
Father was controlling the battle so completely that Gideon could neither force him into an exchange nor defend against an attack he couldn't locate.
The Sword Saint was fighting an opponent he couldn't see, couldn't predict, and couldn't touch.
And Father had made the entire hall his weapon.
A sharp metallic click echoed through the darkness.
Gideon grunted.
Something heavy struck the floor and skidded across the marble.
Then came silence.
The shadows withdrew.
Light returned to the hall, revealing Gideon standing on one knee.
Celestial Aether remained in his right hand, its glow diminished, while the shattered remains of his gauntlet lay several feet away.
His fingers trembled as he tried to close them.
Father stood directly in front of him.
Not a strand of his dark hair had fallen out of place. His cloak settled around his shoulders, and both black blades remained steady in his hands.
Gideon looked up at him.
For several seconds, the Sword Saint said nothing.
Then he lowered his sword.
“I yield.”
The words were quiet, but they carried through the ruined hall.
Father watched him for another moment before lowering his own blades.
“Then live,” he said, “and remember what you witnessed here.”
He turned one blade and slid it into its sheath.
“Remember the Blackthorne legacy.”
For a brief, impossible moment, the battle seemed to be over.
Then the floor shuddered again.
A furious roar tore through the hall.
“Enough of this!”
Leonidas Wildborne charged from the smoke, his enormous axe raised above his head.
His reputation for raw destructive power was well deserved; even before the weapon reached its target, the air around its blade groaned beneath the force of his swing.
Ignatius Emberlord followed close behind.
Flames erupted around his fists, burning from orange to white as he gathered an immense amount of mana. The heat reached us even from across the hall, drying my throat and making the smoke swirl in turbulent currents.
Neither man looked at Gideon.
Their attention was fixed entirely on Father.
Leonidas brought his axe down.
Ignatius struck at the same moment, driving a blazing fist toward Father's flank.
The two attacks converged from opposite sides.
Father turned.
His blades rose to meet them.
The collision unleashed a blast of energy that swallowed the center of the hall in light and shadow.
The shock wave struck me like a physical wall.
I barely managed to brace myself against the pillar before the marble beneath my feet split apart. Cracks raced across the floor, branching in every direction.
The remaining supports groaned, and a section of the upper stonework broke loose overhead.
“Lucian!”
Mother's voice reached me through the roar.
I turned toward her, but the floor gave way before I could take a step.
Stone collapsed beneath my feet.
For one terrible instant, the world dropped away.
I caught a glimpse of the shattered hall above me, of smoke and fire spilling through the widening gap, and of the dark figures still clashing at its center.
Then the floor broke apart completely.
I fell with the rubble.
Instinct took over.
I pulled mana toward myself, though I had no idea whether I was doing it correctly.
A faint layer of energy flickered around my body just as fragments of stone crashed against the broken edges of the collapsing floor.
The impact threw me sideways.
I struck a sloping section of debris, rolled, and landed hard behind the remains of a thick stone pillar. Pain shot through my shoulder, and the breath left my lungs in a single gasp.
For several seconds, I could do nothing but lie there.
Dust filled the air. Stones continued to fall around me, striking the floor with deafening cracks.
Above, the clash of the Hunters shook the damaged structure, sending fresh tremors through the debris.
I forced myself upright and pressed my back against the pillar.
My hands were shaking.
I had seen Father defeat Gideon Silversword.
I had watched him turn the Sword Saint's own skill against him, dismantling his defenses until surrender was the only sensible choice left.
And yet Leonidas and Ignatius had charged him together without hesitation.
They had seen what Father could do.
They had witnessed Gideon yield.
Still, they attacked.
A fresh explosion lit the broken hall above me, followed by a roar of flames and the grinding crash of stone.
I ducked behind the pillar as another shock wave swept through the ruins.
The battle had grown beyond anything I could understand.
And now, with the manor collapsing around me, I was no longer certain the Blackthorne name—or even my father's strength—would be enough to keep me alive.
The collision between Father and the two Hunters tore through the ruined hall.
I was thrown behind a broken pillar as the shock wave swept over the debris. Stone fragments struck the floor around me, and the air filled with smoke, heat, and the deafening roar of colliding mana.
For several seconds, I could barely see.
Then a shadow moved through the dust.
Something heavy spun across the ruined floor.
An enormous axe.
It struck the marble several paces from me, bounced once, and carved a deep groove before coming to a halt.
Leonidas Wildborne's weapon.
I stared at it.
The axe was nearly as tall as I was, its broad head radiating enough mana to make the air tremble around it. Even lying motionless, it felt dangerous.
Then I saw Leonidas charging toward it.
He had thrown the weapon at Father, but the collision had knocked it off course. Now the Hunter was rushing to recover it, his expression twisted with fury.
For one brief moment, his attention was elsewhere.
And I was standing directly between him and his weapon.
My fingers tightened around Night Hound.
The sword my father had wielded when he was my age.
Its dark blade vibrated in my grip, a low hum passing through my palms. I could almost imagine generations of Blackthornes whispering through its steel, urging me to stand my ground.
But the sword couldn't fight in my place.
My hands were trembling. My breathing was ragged, and the mana circulating through my body had become uneven after the fall.
Leonidas was a National Class Hunter.
If he reached me before I moved, I would have no chance of surviving a direct confrontation.
I knew that.
So I didn't intend to fight him head-on.
I had to make the first move.
Leonidas lunged for his axe.
I stepped forward and raised Night Hound, drawing upon the sequence of movements I had studied in the Blackthorne Eclipse.
The first and second forms were familiar enough to attempt under pressure.
The third was another matter entirely.
Sable Tempest.
I forced mana into the blade.
Darkness gathered along its edge, but the flow was unstable. It surged too quickly, then faltered, sending a sharp tremor through my arms.
I adjusted my grip and swung.
The resulting arc of shadow struck the ground in front of Leonidas.
The marble exploded.
He twisted aside at the last moment, but the shock of the impact disrupted his charge. His hand missed the axe's haft by inches, and he stumbled across the fractured floor.
I had bought myself a moment.
No more than that.
Pain shot through my arms. My fingers had gone numb, and Night Hound nearly slipped from my grasp.
The attack hadn't come close to matching the form I'd read about.
It had been crude, incomplete, and wasteful.
But it had forced a National Class Hunter to change his movement.
For now, that was enough.
Leonidas turned toward me.
His expression changed when he saw the sword in my hands.
“You little—”
He abandoned the axe and charged.
I moved before he could finish.
The basic Shadow Steps were the only technique I trusted myself to use. I drew mana toward my feet and followed the familiar sequence.
The world lurched.
My vision flickered, and for an instant, the space between Leonidas and me seemed to fold.
I emerged several paces to his side, barely maintaining my balance.
My shoulder struck the edge of a broken pillar. Pain flashed through it, but I forced myself upright and turned.
Leonidas had already begun to pivot.
I had gained no more than a heartbeat.
Still, I could see the movement of his shoulders, the shift of his hips, and the direction in which his weight was traveling.
Father had taught me that a powerful opponent could not change direction without consequence. Even the strongest body had limits. Even the fastest warrior had to commit to a movement before completing it.
I couldn't match Leonidas's strength.
But perhaps I could recognize the moment when he had no time to change his course.
Night Hound rose in my hands.
I struck.
The blade scraped across his shoulder guard with a harsh metallic sound.
It was nowhere near a decisive blow. The angle was poor, and my unstable footing robbed the strike of much of its force.
Yet the impact was heavier than I expected.
Leonidas's upper body shifted.
His eyes widened—not from pain, but from surprise.
I had touched him.
For the first time since the battle began, I had forced one of the National Class Hunters to acknowledge me as more than a frightened child hiding among the rubble.
Then he turned fully toward me.
The pressure of his presence hit like a wall.
I understood my mistake immediately.
I had caught him off guard, but I hadn't injured him in any meaningful way. The difference between us remained enormous.
Leonidas's hand shot toward my throat.
I barely managed to retreat.
His fingers brushed my collar, tearing the fabric as I stumbled backward. The next strike came from the opposite direction, a brutal sweep of his arm that forced me to duck behind the pillar.
Stone burst apart where his fist struck.
I felt fragments cut across my cheek.
If that blow had landed cleanly, the fight would have ended.
I swallowed hard.
So much for the idea that a little cleverness could make up for the difference in our strength.
Leonidas seized the pillar and wrenched a section of it free.
I moved again.
Shadow Steps.
My mana stuttered, and the displacement carried me only a short distance. I landed awkwardly, one knee striking the floor, while Leonidas's broken pillar crashed down behind me.
The impact sent another tremor through the hall.
I scrambled away.
Then the temperature rose.
A wave of scorching heat rolled through the ruins, drying the moisture in my throat. The smoke above me turned orange, and the shadows cast by the broken pillars began to writhe beneath the growing light.
Ignatius Emberlord had noticed me.
His gaze shifted from Leonidas to the sword in my hands.
For the first time, the flame mage's expression showed something other than anger.
Curiosity.
Then his lips curved into a thin smile.
“Interesting. Another Blackthorne who thinks he can stand against us.”
Fire gathered around both his hands.
“**Hellfire Cataclysm!**”
The hall erupted in flame.
A torrent of fire swept across the ruined floor, engulfing the space between us. The heat struck my face so fiercely that I instinctively recoiled. My cloak began to smolder at the edges, and the air became almost impossible to breathe.
I retreated behind a fractured section of wall.
The stone glowed red.
Cracks spread across its surface.
It wouldn't hold for long.
I looked at the flames consuming the hall, then down at Night Hound.
The first form of Blackthorne Eclipse was a destructive sword technique. It could release a concentrated slash of darkness and fire, but it offered no reliable protection against an attack that filled an entire area.
I couldn't simply cut my way through this.
Cold-based magic might suppress the flames, but I had never learned how to cast a proper ice spell.
I had read about the principles of elemental mana in the family library. I understood the theory well enough to follow the explanations, but understanding the words on a page was not the same as controlling the force they described.
Still, the fire was closing in.
If I waited until I understood everything, I would burn before I could use any of it.
I shut my eyes.
Mana was the force that shaped the world.
That much I knew.
It flowed through living things, gathered in the earth, and manifested in the elements through different patterns and properties. Fire and ice weren't simply opposites; both required mana to assume a particular state.
Could I disrupt that state?
Could I force the mana around me to change before the flames reached me?
I had no idea.
But I had no better option.
I focused on the flow of mana from my core toward my arms, following its movement until it reached Night Hound. The sword's vibration grew stronger beneath my fingers.
Then I pushed my will outward.
At first, nothing happened.
The flames drew closer.
I could hear them crackling against the broken wall. The heat pressed against my skin, and panic threatened to shatter my concentration.
I forced myself to breathe.
Again.
I gathered the mana, not trying to create ice from nothing, but searching for the instability within the fire itself. I reached for the flow that sustained the flames and attempted to disrupt its pattern.
The response was violent.
Cold rushed through my arms.
Night Hound shuddered, and a thin layer of frost appeared along its dark edge. The nearest flames flickered. Their movement slowed, and pale crystals began forming across the burning debris.
For one astonishing instant, the fire froze.
Then the effect spread.
Crystalline frost crawled over the flames, encasing them in translucent layers. The frozen fire fractured, breaking apart into brittle pieces that scattered across the floor.
The sudden silence was almost more frightening than the inferno.
I opened my eyes.
The fire had not vanished entirely. Beyond the frozen patch, the flames continued to roar, and the edges of the ice were already beginning to melt.
But a narrow path had opened before me.
I stared at my hands.
Had I really done that?
I had never cast an elemental spell in my life. I hadn't even known whether I could manipulate mana outside the sword techniques Father had taught me.
Yet I had interfered with Ignatius's flames.
Not through superior power.
Through an imperfect understanding of the principles I'd studied.
The realization brought a brief surge of hope.
Then my arms began to shake.
The cold that had rushed through me receded, leaving a deep ache in its wake. My mana reserves felt strangely hollow, as though the technique had consumed far more energy than I could afford.
I lowered Night Hound before my fingers could lose their grip.
So that was the cost.
I could force mana into a different state, perhaps, but I had no control over how much energy the process consumed or how long the effect would last.
I hadn't mastered anything.
I had found a way to survive one attack.
And even that might not work a second time.
Across the frozen ground, Ignatius stared at the ruined flames.
“Just who are you, boy?” he demanded. His gaze narrowed, and the smile disappeared from his face. “I don't remember another monster like the Dark Emperor.”
I didn't answer.
I was too busy trying to keep my legs from giving way.
Leonidas was still nearby, and Ignatius had barely begun to exert himself. I could feel their auras pressing against my senses, vast and oppressive.
The difference between their power and mine hadn't disappeared simply because I had surprised them.
If anything, I had made myself a more interesting target.
Ignatius lifted one hand.
Mana gathered around his palm, condensing into a dense sphere of molten light.
He was preparing another spell.
I couldn't afford to wait for it.
I tightened my grip on Night Hound and stepped onto the narrow path I had created through the frozen flames.
My intention was simple: close the distance before Ignatius could finish his casting.
If I reached him, I might force him to abandon the spell.
I might even land a decisive strike.
But I knew that was wishful thinking.
He was a National Class Hunter. Even if I reached him, I would still have to overcome his defenses, his combat experience, and the difference in our physical abilities.
I had no plan beyond getting close enough to disrupt him.
And I was running out of strength.
I advanced anyway.
The first step hurt.
The second made my vision blur.
By the third, I could feel the strain spreading from my arms into my shoulders, as though the mana I'd forced through my body had left every muscle raw.
Then the air changed.
A crushing pressure descended over the hall.
The broken marble beneath my feet fractured with a series of sharp cracks. Dust lifted from the floor, only to be forced down again as the weight of an immense aura settled over the ruins.
My knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't Ignatius's fire.
It was something else.
Something powerful enough to make the surrounding mana recoil.
Ignatius's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked away from me.
His eyes shifted toward the center of the ruined hall, where the battle between the Hunters had been raging.
Then he looked back at me, uncertainty tightening his features.
“I don't know who you are, child,” he said, “but I've got a feeling I should give you a ticket to heaven.”
I forced a crooked smile.
“Nah. If you'd offered me a ticket to hell, I might have considered it.”
The retort came more easily than the confidence behind it.
My legs were trembling, and Night Hound felt heavier with every passing second. I was buying time with words because I couldn't afford to waste any more mana.
Yet one thought remained clear.
Blackthorne Eclipse wasn't a collection of isolated attacks.
According to the books I'd studied, each form was designed to flow into the next. The first opened a path, the second disrupted the opponent's defense, and the third released the accumulated force in a single devastating strike.
The forms were meant to work together.
But the theory assumed a swordsman capable of sustaining the sequence.
I wasn't that swordsman.
I could barely perform the third form on its own. Attempting to chain all three together might leave me unable to stand.
Still, I had to do something before Ignatius completed his spell.
I pulled the remaining mana toward Night Hound.
The first form.
Obsidian Genesis.
Black fire raced along the blade.
I struck forward, releasing a crescent of darkness that tore through the frozen path and forced Ignatius to shift his stance. He raised his other hand, and a barrier of flame erupted before him.
My attack struck the barrier.
The collision sent sparks and shadow scattering across the hall.
I pushed forward, trying to maintain the flow into the second form.
Midnight Veil.
The darkness spread around the barrier, swallowing the light along its surface. For an instant, the flames faltered, and a narrow fracture appeared in Ignatius's defense.
I could see him through the gap.
I could also see the spell gathering around his raised hand.
He was already preparing to counterattack.
I forced myself to continue.
The third form.
Sable Tempest.
Night Hound trembled violently.
The darkness along its edge twisted out of shape, surging in uneven waves as my mana flow faltered. I tried to correct it, but my arms no longer responded with the precision I needed.
The attack was forming.
Barely.
Ignatius's eyes widened as the unstable darkness gathered around my blade. He abandoned his incomplete spell and drew mana toward his chest, preparing a defensive barrier.
I took another step.
My sword began to fall.
Then a black slash tore across the hall from the side.
It struck Ignatius's arm before his defense could fully form.
The force knocked him sideways, scattering the mana gathered around his hand. His unfinished spell collapsed in a burst of sparks, and he stumbled away from the path of my attack.
I froze.
That slash hadn't come from me.
I knew the difference immediately. My own technique had been unstable, its energy wavering under the strain of my control.
This attack was different.
It was clean, precise, and terrifyingly powerful.
A familiar darkness lingered in its wake.
Father.
He had intervened.
I didn't know how he'd managed to strike from that distance while fighting two National Class Hunters, but the result was unmistakable. Ignatius had been forced to abandon his spell, and the pressure bearing down on me had eased just enough for me to breathe.
I had been about to discover how little my plan would have accomplished.
Instead, Father had created an opening.
I didn't waste it.
I brought Night Hound around and released the remainder of my first-form attack, directing it toward the weakened barrier.
“Obsidian Genesis!”
The black crescent struck.
The barrier fractured, its surface breaking apart in a burst of light. Ignatius raised his remaining hand to protect himself from the backlash, but the collision forced him to retreat several steps.
I followed, trying to keep the sequence alive.
My arms screamed in protest.
I forced the second form through the remaining darkness, disrupting the mana that clung to his defenses. The technique spread in a wavering veil, buying me another fraction of a second.
Then my strength failed.
Night Hound dipped in my hands.
I stumbled, nearly dropping the sword.
Ignatius recovered his balance.
His expression had hardened into open fury.
“You little—”
Fire erupted around him.
I tried to raise my sword, but my arms barely responded. The mana in my core had dwindled to a thin, uneven current, and the third form remained beyond my control.
I had reached the limit of what I could do.
The realization was cold and absolute.
I couldn't defeat him.
Not like this.
I could interfere with his spells. I could exploit a moment of distraction. I could make him take me seriously.
But if I tried to force another complete sequence, my own body might give out before the attack reached him.
Ignatius thrust his hand forward.
A wall of fire surged toward me.
I braced myself behind Night Hound, knowing the blade alone wouldn't stop it.
Then a shadow swept across the hall.
The flames split apart.
A dark force struck the floor between us, scattering the fire to either side. The shock wave drove me backward, and I fell to one knee, barely keeping hold of my sword.
When I looked up, a figure stood between Ignatius and me.
Father's cloak moved in the heat.
One black blade was raised toward the flame mage, while the other remained lowered at his side.
He hadn't even looked back at me.
“Behind me,” he said.
Two words.
No praise. No surprise. No acknowledgment of the techniques I'd attempted.
Just an instruction.
I obeyed.
My knees threatened to give way as I retreated behind him, and I had to lean on Night Hound to remain upright.
Ignatius's gaze shifted between Father and me.
His expression had changed. The fury remained, but beneath it was a sharper awareness.
He had seen me interfere with his magic. He had watched me attempt a sword sequence I couldn't properly control. He had even been forced to abandon his spell because of the opening Father created.
But none of that meant I had defeated him.
He was still standing.
His mana still burned around him.
And I could no longer lift my sword without pain.
Father's presence settled over the hall, immense and suffocating. The darkness gathered at his feet, spreading across the shattered marble as though the manor itself were answering his call.
I looked down at Night Hound.
The blade's hum had weakened.
My hands were trembling so badly that I could barely keep hold of it.
I'd survived by using what little I understood, by taking advantage of a moment when my opponent wasn't prepared for me, and by receiving help from the one person in the hall capable of turning the battle around.
That wasn't victory.
It was survival.
And I had paid dearly for even that much.
A hot rush rose through my chest.
I turned aside and spat blood onto the fractured marble.
Pain spread through my body, sharp enough to blur the edges of my vision. The Blackthorne Eclipse had demanded more from me than my body could endure, and my reckless attempt to chain its forms together had pushed me beyond the limit.
I tried to straighten.
My legs failed.
Night Hound slipped from my fingers, its dark edge striking the floor with a hollow clang.
Before I could fall completely, Father caught me by the shoulder.
His gaze remained fixed on the Hunters ahead, but his grip was firm enough to keep me standing.
“Lucian,” he said quietly.
I tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
For the first time since the battle began, I understood the difference between possessing power and being strong enough to use it.
I had the sword.
I had the knowledge.
I had even managed to make two National Class Hunters take notice of me.
But I was still a long way from being able to stand beside my father.
And the battle was far from over.
I forced myself upright, one trembling hand pressed against the broken pillar.
My vision swam. Dust choked the air, and every breath sent a sharp ache through my chest. Above me, the ruined hall continued to tremble beneath the force of the battle.
I searched through the haze.
“Father…”
A flash of darkness swept across the shattered hall.
For an instant, I saw him.
Maximilian Blackthorne stood amid the ruins, both black blades in his hands. His cloak had been torn at the edges, and a thin line of blood ran down one side of his face, but he remained on his feet.
Leonidas charged him from the front, his colossal axe crashing down with enough force to split the remaining floor.
Ignatius attacked from the flank, a torrent of white-hot flames surging toward Father's back.
And Caius—
Caius had withdrawn beyond the immediate clash.
Lightning coiled around his arms, branching through the air in restless, blue-white veins. He was not watching the battle like a man waiting for his turn to attack.
He was watching Father.
Waiting.
I didn't understand why until Alaric Spellbinder raised his staff.
The strange light embedded in its head pulsed once.
Then again.
A circle of ancient symbols appeared beneath Leonidas and Ignatius. The markings glowed a deep crimson, spreading across the broken marble like veins beneath the skin.
The two Hunters staggered.
For one terrible moment, I thought Father had struck them.
Then their wounds began to close.
The burns across Leonidas's armor faded. The deep cuts I had inflicted upon Ignatius disappeared beneath his clothes. Broken flesh and battered bodies returned to their former state as if the battle had never happened.
My blood ran cold.
No.
I had seen them fall. I had watched my attacks break through their defenses. They had been wounded badly enough that neither should have been able to stand against Father again so soon.
Yet they were whole.
Alaric lowered his staff slightly, watching the crimson light fade from the floor.
“The Decima Vitae,” he said, almost reverently. “Ten lives, granted beyond the boundary of death.”
Even through the distance, his voice carried clearly enough for me to hear.
“An artifact from an age when mankind believed death itself could be negotiated with. It can call a departed soul back into its body—but resurrection is never a gift without a price.”
He smiled faintly.
“And today, that price is worth paying.”
The words stirred a memory.
Ancient tomes. Forbidden relics. Accounts of artifacts so dangerous that even the most powerful Hunters had refused to handle them.
The Decima Vitae Relic.
A resurrection artifact.
I had read about it before, though the surviving records were incomplete. Some claimed it could restore a dead person to life. Others warned that every return demanded a sacrifice from the living, the dead, or both.
I had always assumed the stories were exaggerated.
They weren't.
Alaric had brought the dead back.
And if he could continue doing so, then defeating his enemies once would never be enough.
Father seemed to understand the same thing.
A new presence entered the ruined hall.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the smoke, each step carrying a weight that made the fractured marble tremble.
Father's gaze shifted.
A broad-shouldered man emerged from the dust, his iron gauntlets covered in intricate runes. His arms were thick with muscle, and the metal encasing his fists glowed a dull crimson as mana gathered around them.
Marcus Ironfist.
Another National Class Hunter.
I had read about him in the records. Unlike Gideon Silversword, who had perfected his swordsmanship, or Ignatius, who commanded devastating fire magic, Marcus had built his reputation through overwhelming physical strength. The iron gauntlets he wore were said to amplify the force of his blows until even defensive barriers could be crushed beneath them.
He rolled his shoulders, then clenched his fists.
“So this is the Dark Emperor,” Marcus said. “I expected someone who looked a little less tired.”
Father's expression remained cold.
“And I expected you to have more courage than to arrive after the fighting has begun.”
Marcus grinned.
“Courage? No. I'm here because the others have finally made this worth my time.”
He drove one fist into his opposite palm.
The impact produced a metallic boom.
Then he charged.
Father raised his blades, catching Marcus's first punch between them. The collision sent sparks across the hall, and the floor beneath Father's boots cracked under the force.
For the first time since the battle began, Father was driven backward.
Only a single step—but I saw it.
So did the others.
Leonidas roared with laughter and attacked from the side, his colossal axe sweeping toward Father's ribs. Father twisted aside and parried the blow, but Marcus had already drawn back his other fist.
“**Ironfall!**”
His punch struck Father's guard.
The impact exploded through the hall.
Father was hurled across the broken floor, his boots carving two deep furrows through the marble before he regained his footing.
“Father!”
He did not answer.
He merely straightened, adjusted his grip on his swords, and fixed his eyes on Marcus.
A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Marcus glanced at his gauntlet, looking almost pleased.
“There it is. The Dark Emperor can bleed after all.”
Father wiped the blood away with his thumb.
“You should have enjoyed that moment while it lasted.”
The darkness around him surged.
Both blades rose.
“**Obsidian Genesis.**”
A crescent of black energy tore across the hall.
Marcus crossed his gauntlets before his chest. The attack struck him head-on, driving him backward and forcing his boots through the stone. His armor cracked beneath the impact, and the air filled with a harsh metallic shriek.
Before Father could follow up, Caius's lightning swept across the floor.
Father leapt clear, but Ignatius's flames rose to meet him in midair. He twisted, dispersing part of the fire with his blade, only to land directly in the path of Leonidas's descending axe.
Steel met steel.
The collision shook the entire hall.
Father held the axe back with both swords, but Marcus was already moving again.
“Don't let him breathe!” Alaric shouted.
Marcus drove forward.
Caius struck from a distance. Ignatius forced Father to defend against another wave of fire, while Leonidas continued hammering at his guard with blows that threatened to break the floor beneath them.
And Marcus kept coming.
Every time Father created an opening, the Decima Vitae Relic pulsed crimson.
The wounds inflicted upon his enemies began to close. Their strength returned, and they rushed him again before he could capitalize on their injuries.
I finally understood their plan.
They weren't trying to prove themselves stronger than Father.
They were exhausting him.
Every blocked attack, every counterstrike, every moment he spent preventing one of them from reaching Mother or me was another moment they could use against him.
And with Alaric's relic restoring their fallen comrades, the battle had become a war of attrition that Father could not win forever.
Still, he refused to retreat.
He stood between them and his family, his twin blades moving with frightening precision, holding back five National Class Hunters through sheer skill and will.
But for the first time, I saw the strain in his movements.
A fraction of hesitation.
A breath drawn more heavily than before.
A brief tightening of his fingers around the hilt of his sword.
Small signs.
Things the enemies had been waiting to see.
Marcus noticed them too.
He lowered his stance, the runes on his gauntlets burning brighter.
“Now,” he said.
Alaric raised the Decima Vitae Relic.
Caius's lightning gathered overhead.
Leonidas lifted his axe, and Ignatius drew the surrounding flames into a single, blazing sphere.
Father looked toward them.
Then, for one fleeting moment, his eyes found mine.
I saw the decision settle across his face.
He wasn't thinking about victory anymore.
He was making certain that none of their attacks would reach us.
“Mother!” I shouted.
But the coordinated assault had already begun.
His gaze shifted toward the staff.
“So that's your answer,” he said.
Alaric's smile widened. “You always were difficult to surprise, Maximilian.”
“You mistake a cheap trick for a strategy.”
“Perhaps.” Alaric tilted his head. “But a strategy only needs to work once.”
Caius moved.
Lightning exploded from his hands.
Father turned, bringing one blade across his body. The first bolt struck the black steel and burst apart in a shower of blue sparks. He deflected the second with a twist of his wrist, then stepped through the third before it could reach his chest.
But the attack had never been intended to kill him.
It was intended to hold his attention.
Leonidas struck from the opposite side.
Father met the axe with both blades, and the collision sent another shock wave through the hall. The remaining pillars groaned. Fractures spread across the ceiling, and fragments of stone rained down between the combatants.
Ignatius seized the opening.
“**Hellfire Cataclysm!**”
A column of white flame erupted beneath Father.
The blast swallowed him.
“FATHER!”
My shout tore from my throat before I could stop it.
For a heartbeat, all I could see was fire.
Then the flames split apart.
Father emerged through the inferno, one blade sweeping outward to scatter the remaining fire while the other drove toward Ignatius. The mage barely managed to raise a barrier before the strike reached him.
The impact shattered half the barrier and hurled him across the hall.
Father followed.
He was faster than I had ever seen him.
One step carried him through the smoke. A second brought him within striking distance. His blade descended, forcing Ignatius to throw himself aside as the edge carved a deep trench through the floor.
Leonidas roared and swung again.
Father pivoted, allowing the axe to pass close enough to tear at his cloak. He struck Leonidas across the ribs with the flat of his blade, then drove his shoulder into the larger man's chest.
Leonidas flew backward.
The Dark Emperor did not pause to admire his work.
He turned toward Alaric.
For the first time, the old man's expression changed.
“Caius!”
The lightning wielder answered immediately.
A web of electricity spread across the floor, racing toward Father's feet. He leapt clear, but the instant his boots left the ground, Caius drove both hands forward.
Lightning struck him in midair.
The flash illuminated the entire hall.
Father landed hard, one knee bending beneath the force of the impact. Smoke rose from his shoulder. His fingers tightened around the hilts of his swords, and the darkness gathering around him surged outward in a violent wave.
The pressure nearly drove me back behind the pillar.
He was still standing.
Even after all that, he was still standing.
“You've brought a relic, three Hunters, and every cowardly trick you could gather,” Father said, his voice low and cold. “And you still need to attack me together.”
Caius's jaw tightened.
“Don't flatter yourself. We didn't come here to prove who was the strongest.”
“Then why are you here?”
For a moment, no one answered.
Then Ignatius pushed himself upright, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. His expression had changed.
The earlier amusement was gone, replaced by a hatred so old and deeply rooted that it seemed to have become part of him.
“Because the world has spent generations kneeling before your family.”
He spread his arms, gesturing toward the ruined manor.
“Look at this place, Maximilian. The estate. The treasures. The land. The influence your name commands. While other Hunters risked their lives to protect humanity, the Blackthornes built a kingdom behind their walls.”
“Careful,” Father warned.
“No.” Ignatius laughed bitterly. “You've had centuries of people being careful around you. Your family claims the greatest victories, receives the highest honors, and decides who deserves to stand among the National Class Hunters. And anyone who questions that order is treated like an enemy of mankind.”
“Your grievances do not make this righteous.”
“Righteous?” Leonidas spat. “You stole our place, our recognition, our legacy! You made the Blackthorne name synonymous with strength and left the rest of us to live beneath your shadow.”
Father's expression did not change.
“So you came to kill my family.”
“We came to take back what should never have belonged to you,” Caius replied.
His eyes shifted toward the shattered walls, the broken statues, and the treasures scattered across the ruined hall.
“Your power. Your position. Everything this family has hoarded. When the Dark Emperor falls, the world will finally learn that the Blackthornes can bleed like anyone else.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
They had not come to challenge Father.
They had come to erase us.
The manor was not collateral damage. It was part of their objective. Every broken pillar, every shattered window, every piece of Blackthorne history lying beneath the rubble was another piece of the legacy they intended to destroy.
And they had planned for the possibility that Father would defeat them.
That was why they had brought Alaric.
That was why they had brought the relic.
A fresh pulse of crimson light swept across the floor.
Leonidas straightened.
Ignatius's wounds began to close again.
Father saw it.
So did I.
He had defeated them, and the relic was undoing his victories.
Again and again, they could return to the fight.
But Father could not afford to waste his strength forever.
I tried to rise.
My legs shook beneath me. Pain lanced through my body, and the Night Hound slipped in my grasp.
I had to reach him.
I had to do something.
Yet before I could take a step, a familiar presence moved beside me.
Mother.
Seraphina Blackthorne stood at the edge of the broken hall, her clothes torn and her face pale from exhaustion. The jade pendant still hung at her throat, glowing faintly against her skin.
She looked at Father.
Then at me.
Even from where I stood, I could see the fear she was trying to hide.
“Maximilian,” she called.
Father glanced toward her.
That single moment was enough.
Alaric thrust his staff forward.
“Now, Caius!”
Lightning struck from behind.
Father turned, but not quickly enough to avoid the entire attack. The bolt tore across his back, forcing him a step forward. At the same instant, Leonidas charged from the front, his axe raised for a killing blow.
Father could have moved.
I knew he could.
But Mother stood directly beyond Leonidas's path, and I was exposed near the broken pillar.
If Father evaded, the axe would reach us.
He chose to stand his ground.
Both black blades rose.
The axe crashed against them.
The sound was deafening.
The force drove Father down onto one knee, cracking the marble beneath him. Lightning continued to course across his back, while Ignatius gathered the remnants of his mana into a blazing sphere.
“Father!” I screamed.
I tried to move.
My body refused.
Ignatius released the spell.
The explosion swallowed the center of the hall.
The shock wave threw me against the pillar. Pain burst through my shoulder, and my vision went white. For several seconds, I could hear nothing but a high, piercing ring.
When my hearing returned, the hall was quiet.
Too quiet.
I forced my eyes open.
Smoke drifted through the ruins.
Leonidas stood with his axe lowered. Caius's lightning had faded to a few weak sparks around his fingers. Ignatius was breathing heavily, his face drawn with exhaustion.
And Alaric—
Alaric stood behind them, his staff still glowing.
I looked past them.
At first, I couldn't understand what I was seeing.
Father stood upright.
His swords remained in his hands.
But a terrible wound had opened in his chest.
Blood spread across his clothes, darkening the fabric beneath his armor. One blade slipped from his fingers and struck the floor.
He looked down at it.
Then he raised his eyes toward me.
“Father…”
My voice barely emerged.
He turned his head in my direction.
There was no panic in his expression. No disbelief. Not even the anger I had expected to see.
Only a quiet, terrible understanding.
He had known what the enemies intended. He had understood the trap. He had chosen to protect us anyway.
His gaze lingered on me.
Grief rested in his eyes, alongside something that hurt even more to witness.
Pride.
He was proud of me.
Even now.
Even when I had been too weak to stand beside him.
My knees threatened to give way.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no…”
Father's lips moved, but whatever he meant to say was lost beneath the ringing in my ears.
Then his body began to fall.
The Dark Emperor had fought until there was nothing left to give.
And in the end, the enemies who could not defeat him alone had taken advantage of the one thing he would never abandon.
His family.
Maximilian Blackthorne had fallen.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Alaric approached him, raising the Decima Vitae Relic.
“Secure the body,” he ordered.
Caius placed a hand against Father's back. Faint lightning crawled from his palm, binding the fallen man's body in place, while Alaric began tracing a circle of crimson symbols around him.
I stared at them, unable to understand.
They had killed him.
They had finally killed him.
Yet they were not treating his body like the remains of an enemy.
They were preparing something.
Alaric's staff brightened, and the ancient symbols beneath Father began to turn.
“The world will hear of this soon,” he murmured. “We have little time.”
Caius glanced toward the shattered windows.
In the distance, sirens were growing louder.
Then he turned toward me.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
“I saw your performance, boy. You have your father's instincts, I'll give you that. But don't mistake a few clever movements for true strength.”
He took a step toward me.
“You're still a cub.”
Leonidas's roar shook the hall.
“Kill the heir! End the Blackthorne line here and now!”
Ignatius laughed, though exhaustion still dragged at his breathing.
“After all these years, the world will finally be free of its greatest monsters. Their prestige, their wealth, their influence—all of it will be ours to claim.”
He looked around the ruined manor with open contempt.
“No human family should be permitted to hoard such power. Once the Blackthornes are gone, we will tear down everything they built and raise something greater from the ashes.”
I tried to lift Night Hound.
My fingers barely moved.
I couldn't fight them. I couldn't even stand.
But I refused to look away.
Alaric turned toward me, his expression hardening.
“No more delays. The police and reporters are closing in. We finish this and leave.”
He raised one hand.
Mana gathered in his palm, condensing into a sphere of raw energy that crackled with a sharp, rising hiss.
I knew what was coming.
I tried to move.
I couldn't.
The spell shot toward me.
Mother moved before I could even call her name.
She tore the jade pendant from her neck and hurled it into the air.
The pendant flashed.
A shield of violet light unfolded between us, spreading into a curved barrier just as Alaric's attack struck. The impact sent a violent shock wave through the hall, rattling loose stones and scattering dust across the floor.
The barrier held.
Barely.
Mother stood in front of me, one arm extended, her other hand pressed against her chest. Without the pendant, she looked suddenly more vulnerable than I had ever seen her.
Alaric clicked his tongue.
“Tch. Another complication.”
He glanced toward Father, then gave Dorian Nightshade's body a brief, assessing look before turning back to us.
“This can wait.”
His gaze settled on me.
“Next time, heir of Blackthorne, I won't leave you standing.”
The crimson portal opened behind them.
Leonidas and Ignatius stepped through first, followed by Caius. Alaric lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the fallen Dark Emperor, before crossing the threshold himself.
The reddish rift folded inward and vanished.
Silence settled over the ruined manor.
The sirens drew closer.
Mother's barrier faded, and she dropped to her knees beside me.
But I barely noticed.
I could only stare at the place where Father had fallen.
The strongest man I had ever known was gone.
And I had been forced to watch.
I turned.
My breath caught.
Mother was still standing where I had last seen her—but then her knees gave way.
“Mother!”
I rushed forward, catching her before she struck the floor. Night Hound slipped from my hand as I fell beside her.
Blood trickled from the corner of her lips, staining her gown.
“No…” My hands trembled as I searched for a wound. “Mother, what happened? There's no injury!”
She looked at me and managed a faint smile, the same gentle expression that had always made me feel safe.
“Don't worry, my son,” she whispered. “It's just a small scar. Nothing more.”
I wanted to believe her. Desperately.
Then I noticed the blood spreading across the stone. It moved in thin, unnatural trails, forming strange sigils as the floor hissed beneath it.
My heart sank.
“Poison…”
My gaze snapped toward the direction our enemies had vanished.
“That man did this.”
I tried to rise, but a hand settled gently on my head.
Father.
Despite the terrible wound in his chest, Maximilian Blackthorne remained standing. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, yet his eyes held the same familiar strength.
He lowered himself beside us and took Mother's hand.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply looked at each other—not as warriors or rulers, but as husband and wife who had shared a lifetime together.
Father brushed his thumb across her fingers.
“You did well.”
Mother's smile softened. “So did you.”
My throat tightened. I couldn't bear the quiet understanding passing between them.
Father turned toward me.
“You've awakened the ember of Blackthorne.”
“I don't care about that!” My voice cracked. “You both need a healer. We can still save you!”
He gave me a faint, weary smile.
“You always were stubborn.”
Mother let out a weak laugh, and that small sound hurt more than anything else. She rested her hand against my shoulder, her touch so light that I instinctively covered it with mine.
“Our legacy lives…” She struggled to catch her breath. “Through you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
I stared at my parents, refusing to accept what my heart already feared.
Around us lay the ruins of our home, its ancestral banners torn and its halls stained with blood. The Blackthorne estate, which I had once believed untouchable, had become a graveyard.
Why had Father's closest comrades betrayed us? Had their loyalty ever been real, or had I simply failed to see the hatred hidden behind their smiles?
I wanted answers.
I wanted to understand.
But none of it mattered if I lost them both.
My fingers found Night Hound's hilt. I picked up the blade and knelt before my parents, no longer as an aspiring warrior or the heir to a great house, but as their son.
“I swear…”
My voice trembled, but I forced myself to continue.
“No blade, no betrayal, will ever extinguish the Blackthorne name again.”
I looked across the shattered hall. Grief still threatened to overwhelm me, and beneath it burned a fury I had never known before.
“I will reclaim everything they took from us. I will uncover every betrayal and make those responsible answer for what they've done.”
My grip tightened around Night Hound.
“And I will ascend as the Dark Emperor.”
For a moment, Father simply watched me. Pride and sorrow mingled in his exhausted eyes.
“You will,” he whispered. “But don't become one only for revenge.”
I froze.
“Become one so no child of yours ever has to kneel beside you like this.”
His words struck deeper than any blade.
I had wanted power for years. I had dreamed of reaching the pinnacle, of becoming strong enough that no one could stand above me. But now, with my parents bleeding before me, that ambition seemed painfully small.
Power had not saved our family.
Strength had not prevented betrayal.
If I became the Dark Emperor, it would not be enough to make my enemies fear me. I would have to build a world in which the people under my protection would never suffer what I was suffering now.
Mother looked at Father, a faint smile touching her lips.
Then she turned to me.
“Our son…”
I leaned closer. “Mother?”
Her voice faded.
“Mother?”
Her hand slipped from my shoulder. I caught it, holding it between both of mine.
“Mother, please…”
She didn't answer.
Beside her, Father closed his eyes and bowed his head over their joined hands.
For the first time, I no longer saw the Dark Emperor or the patriarch of House Blackthorne.
I saw a husband who had lost the woman he loved.
And then I understood.
They were gone.
My parents—the two people who had made this place my home—were gone, and nothing I did could bring them back.
I remained kneeling between them, Night Hound beneath my hand, their blood staining my clothes.
The grief was unbearable. It threatened to swallow every thought, every breath, every part of me that still felt human.
But beneath it, my resolve hardened.
I would remember their faces, their voices, and everything they had taught me. I would carry their legacy forward—not merely in name, but in everything I chose to become.
And I would never forget the men who had brought us to this moment.
Outside, dawn crept through the shattered windows, casting pale light across the ruined hall. It fell upon the broken Blackthorne crest beneath my knees, where crimson stains glimmered like dying embers.
The Blackthorne flame had not gone out.
Not yet.
It had been reduced to a single ember.
And I would make certain it burned again.
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