Chapter 115 - Refinement

  The battlefield had become a chaotic swirl of steel, fire, and raw magic. Screams and war cries mixed with the deafening roar of elemental forces clashing mid-air. The Grand Duke’s forces, seasoned warriors and disciplined mages, fought back with precision honed through years of battle. But the children, though inexperienced, were creatures of raw potential—unpredictable, untamed, and deadly.

  Lira’s breath came in ragged gasps as her magic flared wildly, fluctuating with her surging emotions. Flames erupted from her hands, twisting violently before slamming into an armored knight. He barely had time to raise his shield before the heat melted through the metal, searing his arm. He let out a strangled scream but kept fighting, slashing his sword at Lira’s exposed side. A last-second burst of force knocked him back, but she was already feeling the strain.

  "Why… does it feel so heavy?" Lira whispered to herself, gripping her chest as the emotions of the battlefield pressed down on her like a weight.

  A blur of motion—Aislin darted past her, dodging a spear thrust with inhuman agility. Her glowing blue markings pulsed, fueling her enhanced reflexes. The knight she faced was swift, his strikes calculated, but he couldn’t match her unnatural speed. She ducked under a horizontal slash and drove her fist into his gut. The impact sent him skidding back, armor dented, but he recovered with impressive resilience.

  “Not bad, kid,” he grunted, wiping blood from his lip. “But you’re still—”

  Aislin’s second strike cut him off. Faster, stronger. The blue markings on her skin flared, and this time, the force sent the knight flying into a nearby carriage. He didn’t rise.

  Elsewhere, Silas moved like a phantom, his presence barely registering even as he weaved between enemies. A mage unleashed a fireball toward him, but the flames scattered upon reaching him, the spell fizzling out as if consumed by an unseen void. The mage’s eyes widened in confusion before Silas closed the distance, striking with an open palm. The impact sent a strange numbing sensation through the mage’s body, his mana suddenly slipping from his grasp.

  “What… what did you do?!” the mage gasped, staggering.

  Silas tilted his head, expression unreadable. He hadn’t even fully realized his own ability yet, but something inside him instinctively knew how to silence magic itself.

  Joren was locked in brutal melee, his blood forming crimson blades that lashed out like living extensions of his body. He parried a knight’s strike with a hardened tendril of blood before countering with a swift slash across the man’s thigh. The knight gritted his teeth, stepping back, but another tendril whipped out and coiled around his arm, dragging him closer.

  “Monst—” The knight’s words were cut short as Joren drove a blood-formed dagger into his throat, ending him swiftly.

  Mira, who had been positioned behind the others, suddenly tensed. Her deep blue eyes flickered with light—an echo of what was to come. Her vision swam with images of blades swinging, arrows flying, and bodies falling. She gasped.

  “Dain! Left side!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

  Dain barely had time to react before he turned, raising his unnaturally dense arms just in time to block a crushing overhead strike from a knight’s greatsword. The sheer weight behind it would have shattered bones—but Dain barely flinched.

  The knight’s eyes widened in shock as Dain grabbed the blade with his bare hands and wrenched it from his grasp before delivering a brutal headbutt. The knight crumpled.

  The battlefield raged on, and despite their strength, the children were beginning to tire. The Grand Duke, still seated in his carriage, observed with narrowed eyes. His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword, waiting. Calculating. His son, Leonard, clutched at his sleeve, his face pale.

  “Father… they’re…” Leonard swallowed hard. “They’re monsters.”

  The Grand Duke did not reply. Not yet.

  Nyla, standing amidst a growing storm of ice, clenched her fists. Frost spread beneath her feet as she raised her hands, summoning jagged shards of ice in the air. But before she could unleash them, an adept mage locked eyes with her and chanted.

  A burst of fire erupted in her direction, melting through the ice mid-air and forcing her to retreat. The mage pressed forward, countering her cold with relentless heat. Nyla gritted her teeth. She had the power, but this mage had the experience.

  Theo, seeing Nyla struggle, slammed his foot into the ground. The very earth beneath them trembled as the pull of gravity intensified, anchoring the opposing mage’s feet in place. His spell faltered, and in that moment, Nyla struck—an icicle speared forward, piercing through his shoulder. He let out a strangled cry and fell to one knee.

  Meanwhile, Ren was nowhere to be seen, lost in the shadows of the battle. He had already taken down three guards, slipping in and out of sight like a living phantom. But he hesitated as he neared a knight who had fallen to one knee, injured but still alive. The man looked up at him, fear in his eyes.

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  Ren’s dagger trembled in his grasp.

  “They’re human,” he muttered to himself. “Like us.”

  A voice in the back of his mind whispered Antru’s chilling words.

  “If you cannot even do this… why should we keep you here?”

  His grip tightened. His hesitation could cost him. Could cost them all.

  Before he could decide, a crossbow bolt whistled through the air—aimed at him.

  A blur—Cassis tackled him out of the way just in time. The bolt grazed his arm instead, drawing blood.

  “Damn it, Ren!” Cassis hissed through clenched teeth. “You can hesitate later!”

  Ren clenched his jaw, nodding. No more doubts. No more hesitation.

  The Grand Duke finally stood from his seat, sighing as he drew his sword. “Enough,” he murmured, stepping forward at last.

  The battle was far from over.

  The Grand Duke advanced, his movements deliberate. The chaos of the battlefield seemed to part before him, as if the very air bent under his presence. His aura alone sent chills through the children, instinct screaming at them that this man was not to be trifled with.

  Lira, still catching her breath, felt her flames flicker in the presence of his overwhelming energy. A seasoned warrior. A high-ranking noble. Someone who had carved his name into the annals of war with blood and steel.

  “Stand aside,” he commanded, his voice carrying across the battlefield like an unshakable decree. “I will not ask again.”

  No one moved. Not even the knights, who had been struggling moments before. They, too, knew what was coming.

  Aislin was the first to react, her instincts screaming at her to move. In a blur of motion, she dashed forward, closing the gap in a heartbeat. Her fist, wreathed in pulsating energy, struck out—

  —and met only air.

  The Grand Duke was behind her in an instant. No wasted movement. No sound.

  Aislin’s eyes widened as pain exploded in her side. She barely registered the strike before she was sent hurtling across the battlefield, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.

  Joren moved next, blood forming jagged spears around him. They launched forward, aiming to impale—

  —but the Grand Duke simply waved his hand.

  The spears shattered into nothingness before they even reached him.

  Panic spread through the children as they realized the difference in power. This wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre waiting to happen.

  And the Grand Duke… was just getting started.

  The moment the Grand Duke moved, the battlefield itself seemed to respond. A suffocating pressure crushed the air, sending ripples of raw force that made even the knights falter. To the children, it felt as if gravity itself had doubled, weighing them down before the true battle had even begun.

  Lira clenched her fists, forcing her flames to rise despite the tremor in her limbs. "He's just one man," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "We can take him if we—"

  She didn’t get to finish. The Grand Duke vanished in an instant, reappearing directly in front of her, his sword flashing before she could react.

  A shockwave exploded outward.

  Lira barely had time to raise her arms, a desperate wall of fire forming between them, but it was useless. The force of his swing shattered her defense, the impact sending her flying back, rolling across the ground before she skidded to a stop. Pain flared through her body as she gasped for air, her vision swimming.

  A blur—Dain roared, his massive arms raised as he charged, aiming to slam the Grand Duke into the earth. His sheer size alone had sent knights sprawling before, but this time—

  The Grand Duke stopped him with a single palm against his chest.

  Dain’s momentum halted instantly. The ground beneath him cracked as the Grand Duke’s force pressed downward. Dain gritted his teeth, his muscles straining, but no matter how much power he poured into his body, he couldn’t move forward. His legs buckled beneath him.

  “Impressive physique,” the Grand Duke mused. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent Dain soaring back, his massive form crashing into a broken carriage.

  “Dain!” Mira cried, her visions swirling violently with flashes of impending strikes—slashes of steel, bursts of magic, the Grand Duke weaving between them all like an untouchable phantom.

  She turned to warn the others, but before she could, Silas struck. No sound, no hesitation—his very presence seemed to distort as he moved in, his fingers reaching for the Grand Duke’s shoulder, aiming to silence his magic.

  For a moment, the world held its breath.

  Then, with terrifying ease, the Grand Duke turned, his blade flicking out in a motion too fast to follow. Silas twisted to avoid it, but even with his unnatural agility, he wasn’t fast enough.

  A deep gash opened along his side.

  Silas stumbled back, his breathing ragged. He had barely even seen the attack, and worse—his ability had done nothing.

  “Fascinating,” the Grand Duke murmured, eyes flickering with interest as he wiped his blade. “Your gift is unlike anything I’ve seen.” He glanced at Silas’s trembling hands. “But it is wasted on you.”

  Joren snarled, his blood forming jagged spikes around him, the air thick with the scent of iron. Without hesitation, he lashed out, sending a barrage of crimson blades toward the Grand Duke.

  Not a single one reached him.

  The Grand Duke didn’t even raise his weapon. The moment the blood spears came within inches of him, they disintegrated into mist, as if erased from existence.

  Joren’s breath hitched. “What—”

  Before he could react, the Grand Duke stepped forward, closing the distance in a blink. His fist met Joren’s stomach, driving into him like a sledgehammer. Joren’s body folded around the impact before he was launched backward, crashing into the remains of an overturned wagon.

  Ren, still hidden within the battlefield’s chaos, gripped his dagger tighter, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had watched the others fall within seconds. He knew, logically, that he couldn’t win.

  But he also knew they couldn’t run.

  With silent steps, he moved, weaving through the wreckage of battle, his dagger poised for the one, precise strike that could change everything. His breathing slowed. His muscles coiled.

  And just as he lunged—

  The Grand Duke caught him mid-air by the throat.

  Ren’s eyes went wide as his feet dangled above the ground, his dagger slipping from his fingers. The Grand Duke regarded him with something akin to mild curiosity before tossing him aside as if discarding a broken tool. Ren crashed hard into the dirt, gasping for breath.

  Panic took root. They had fought knights, mages, and beasts before, but this—this was something else. The Grand Duke wasn’t just stronger.

  He was absolute.

  Aislin, her body aching from the earlier strike, pushed herself up, her vision swimming. Her markings still glowed faintly, her strength surging back despite the pain. She looked around at the others, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe.

  They were going to die here.

  The Grand Duke exhaled softly, disappointed. “Is this all?”

  The words stung more than any wound.

  Then, something changed.