The flaming sword pierced Duq'arael's body. He coughed up blood and staggered backward, unable to suppress his injuries, his long-maintained elegance finally shattered.
This was the gravest wound Duq'arael had suffered in a century. Even when he killed his own brother, it had taken decades to recover. And this time…
"Is the power of the Teekaz bloodline still beyond my reach?"
He muttered to himself as the surrounding blood rushed back into his body. Another mouthful of blood spilled from his lips. Only then did he realize that his control over blood had weakened drastically. Shock and fury flared in his eyes. "Damn it. What kind of power is this?"
"Flame." Felix's voice was steady. "If you mean the fire, it is a flame that purifies both body and soul."
He did not lower his weapon. Behind him, Ifrit stood with the Flame Sword in hand. Neither showed any intention of ending the fight.
Perhaps it was nearly over.
Duq'arael wiped the blood from his mouth. Though he forcibly suppressed his wounds, weakness and pain seeped from the depths of his soul.
This was the most severe injury he had suffered since birth.
The power that seemed capable of cleaving the very stars had been poured into his body.
"It seems you truly possess the strength to become King of the Sarkaz." Duq'arael's face was pale, yet he grinned. "What a pity that today's Sarkaz have long forgotten the glory of their ancestors. A Sarkaz who has cast aside his fangs, is he still Sarkaz?"
"The Sarkaz of old shared the same origin as this land. The home of the Teekaz is Terra itself. You wield such power, yet you seek only a secluded life. That is blasphemy. You who inherit the blood of Teekaz should feel ashamed."
"Times have changed. That time has long faded."
Felix's tone remained calm. "Don't you think you've become too restrained? If we follow your logic, why not go to Columbia and slaughter a city? Why not challenge the towers of Leithanien? Why not test your strength on the northern frontier of Ursus?"
"You can't." He did not give Duq'arael a chance to answer. "Your power could wipe out a mobile city. But what then? Would you not be surrounded and killed? If, as you claim, all Terrans are livestock, why don't you act on it yourself?"
"Duq'arael, you shed your beastly nature long ago. You are afraid of death."
Rage flared in Duq'arael's bloodshot eyes. Blood poured from his body and condensed into hundreds of crimson nails suspended before him.
"I will not forgive you."
Felix stepped forward. His longsword carved a molten trail across the ground as the earth's veins resonated beneath his feet.
"Duq'arael, if there is anyone among the Sarkaz still trapped in the past, it is you. You kill not out of necessity, but desire. You once glimpsed the future of Teekaz, yet you can never become Teekaz."
"In the end, you will still stand alone. Your own kind have long been reduced to weapons in your hands. You disdain the other Sarkaz races. You disdain ordinary Sarkaz. So you will die alone."
Blood seeped from Duq'arael's body as his crimson eyes turned toward the sky.
He fell to the ground, arms spread wide, and for the first time looked at the heavens from the perspective of the people of Terra.
"The Kazdel we know today was founded by those you despise."
With that, Felix sheathed his sword. Ifrit dissolved into a fading phantom.
Thunderous cheers erupted. The warriors of Saviadel pounded the ground with their weapons and roared in triumph. It was the first time they had witnessed His Highness's power at such close range. He had slain the King of Nachzehrers and now the Vampire Lord. The exhilaration was beyond words.
Logos' eyes widened as he let out a long breath. He had intended to confront the Vampire Lord himself, for Rhodes Island and for Kazdel alike. He had not expected His Highness to possess such overwhelming strength, nor to defeat the Vampire Lord so decisively.
"Advance."
"Yes!"
Without needing Felix to repeat herself, Luna exhaled in relief and immediately ordered her subordinates to continue advancing toward the Shard Building. Yet when she saw the Vampire Lord's corpse, a trace of sorrow pierced her heart. To all Vampires, he had been both terror and progenitor. To see him fall like this…
Luna could only curse under her breath. The Vampire Lord's cruelty had filled even his own kind with fear and revulsion. Such wickedness was unprecedented in the long history of the royal court.
More and more members of the Military Commission threw themselves into the fray, launching wave after wave of suicidal charges against Saviadel's warband, as if reckless assault could numb their dread and despair. They understood that with their greatest warrior, the Vampire Lord, slain, and the War God, the Nachzehrers King, having already fought the enemy to a standstill days before, nothing remained to halt Tomorrow's Development or Kazdel's advance.
"Please, stop fighting."
At Felix's signal, Theresa stepped forward. Sadness tinged her face, her hands clasped tightly against her chest. Amid the clamor of the battlefield, an unnatural silence fell.
A Sarkaz Commission member caught sight of her and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Tears welled up without warning.
"Your Highness!"
Some of the Military Commission's mercenaries spoke out, voices trembling with nostalgia, as if unsure whether they were ensnared in an illusion.
"Your Highness!"
More voices joined in. Weapons wavered in their grasp, then slowly lowered.
"It's Her Highness!"
Even the most steadfast Sarkaz, those who had followed General Theresis from the very beginning, laid down their arms and knelt on one knee before the Sarkaz king Theresa, whom they had believed dead.
Even when civil war had torn Kazdel apart, even when they stood on opposing sides, their respect for Princess Theresa had never faded.
In their tradition, victory and defeat did not demand extermination. The vanquished would serve the victors wholeheartedly. Yet in the war's most critical moment, Princess Theresa had been assassinated in the cruelest fashion.
"Your Highness…"
"Rise, warriors of Sarkaz." Theresa's sorrow softened into a gentle smile. "Your lives should not be wasted here. The civil war of Kazdel must not continue."
"Your Highness…"
A mercenary squad leader stood. His jaw clenched as his hand hovered over his weapon. He wanted to lift it, yet he wanted to let it fall. Seeing his struggle, Theresa sighed, her heart aching for the Sarkaz and their fractured fate.
"Your Highness, it is a blessing to see you alive. You once saved my life. After paying my respects, I should have withdrawn… But on the battlefield, we have no choice." He raised his longsword and pointed it toward Saviadel's warriors. "Please forgive me. If I survive this battle, I will take my own life to atone."
Theresa bit her lower lip, her gaze lowered, unable to conceal her grief.
"Your Highness, this is not about rebuilding Kazdel. It belongs to the victors, not to the defeated like us."
"You are wrong," Theresa replied solemnly. "As long as you are Sarkaz, as long as you still acknowledge yourselves as children of Kazdel, then Kazdel's mobile city will always be your home. War may be the most direct solution, but it is also the cruelest. For countless years, the Sarkaz have wandered this land without refuge. We have finally built a home, a home that belongs to all Sarkaz."
"Back off."
An indifferent voice drifted from the distance. A Sarkaz turned his head.
Unlike the Vampire's suffocating malice, the Confessarius's arrogant disdain, or the Nachzehrers King's overwhelming terror, this figure seemed almost unremarkable. He was even slightly smaller in stature than Patriot.
He was merely a Sarkaz. No army behind him, no attendants at his side. He had risen from his throne without hesitation, relinquished power he had never truly coveted, and walked forward at an unhurried pace.
In that moment, he cast the coldest gaze seen in more than two hundred years.
"General!"
"Back off."
"Yes…"
General Theresis appeared outside the Shard, his eyes fixed upon the steps where his sister stood.
Their eyes met. Theresa's gaze was warm, while Theresis's was cold.
In that fleeting moment, their eyes parted. His attention shifted from his sister to Felix.
This was the first time Felix had truly faced the leader of the Military Commission, Regent Theresis. Strangely, he felt only a trace of gratitude for what Theresis had done. Had it not been for that high-profile assassination attempt, Felix might have taken control of Kazdel much later. Now, standing before him, Felix felt no anger, no surprise, no tangled emotion.
He looked at him once. So this is Theresis. That was all.
Tomorrow's Development had achieved its purpose. Kazdel's revenge was complete. Yet as he looked at Theresis, he understood that his own task might not be finished.
Felix stepped forward, passing Theresa. Her gaze shifted from her brother to him, worry filling her eyes.
"Nice to meet you, Lord of Kazdel's Liberation."
"Nice to meet you, General of Kazdel."
Their eyes locked. Theresis glanced toward the pool of blood in the distance.
"With your strength, you carried Kazdel upon your shoulders and achieved, in such a short time, the ending the Sarkaz have dreamed of for thousands of years. In that regard, I am inferior to you."
"Your power, your capability, your bearing require no further proof. You have become the King of Liberation. You have won the hearts of the people. That is beyond doubt. Even my sister has chosen to follow you."
"However, as leader of the Military Commission, I will not surrender without a fight."
Theresis slowly reached for the sword at his waist.
"The Military Commission has already lost. But do not expect me to yield without resistance."
"I knew this battle would come." Felix gripped his burning sword. "Use your sword to show me what you carry. Let me see whether it is enough to crush me."
"How irritating. That is arrogance."
The weather over Londinium shifted abruptly. The overcast sky broke into a cold drizzle.
Felix ascended the steps, Wildfire blazing in his grasp.
The battle began without warning.
Theresis's longsword tore through the rain and slashed downward, its broad blade covering Felix's entire chest. The strike was swift, honed by nearly a century of tempered swordsmanship.
Felix took half a step back. His military boots crushed the broken stone behind him. As fragments scattered, he spun and swept his blade horizontally. The edge scraped across Theresis's breastplate, carving a searing red groove into the tungsten steel. Sparks met cold rain, rising as white steam.
Theresis shifted. The upward diagonal cut began as a textbook guard stance, refined through countless trials, then transformed midway into three silver arcs, indistinguishable between real and feint. Felix retreated half a step. Blue-gold flames burst along his blade as he struck precisely at the seventh inch of the second true arc. Sparks scattered across the blue bricks between them, leaving scorched marks.
The moment Theresis's sword was deflected, his left hand snapped to the pommel. Felix's pupils narrowed as he twisted aside. The deflected blade reversed like a venomous serpent lifting its head, its tip snapping back toward his throat at an impossible angle. Steel grazed his neck. A sharp crack rang out as bricks shattered beneath his heel. Using the recoil, Felix flipped backward into the air, then plunged down again, colliding violently with Theresis.
A thunderous impact.
The two figures vanished from sight. Those watching squinted and realized that Theresis had been driven back by Felix. The duel resumed midair, blades flashing as they entangled once more.
Theresis did not invoke Originium Arts. Felix did not draw upon the power of Teekaz. They fought with steel alone, eyes locked.
Their swords clashed in the rain, metal striking metal in a rhythm as dense as a sudden downpour.
"…Truly astonishing swordsmanship."
Hoederer lowered his voice. "Everyone knows General Theresis is a master of the blade. That is no secret among the Sarkaz. But no one expected Felix to restrain himself in this pure contest. He could have summoned the Diablo's power, yet he chose to suppress it and match the General with skill alone."
Arrogant. Confident.
Theresis moved with relentless speed. His footwork was sharp, his sword even sharper. It was difficult to believe he relied solely on physical mastery, without a trace of Originium Arts. This was the foundation built over centuries of discipline.
Felix did not falter. His movements quickened, his strikes growing faster and fiercer. It had been a long time since he had fought such a battle, one stripped of Arts and reduced to nothing but steel and skill.
Fight. Fight. Tatakae.
This was the kind of battle that stirred the blood and set the heart ablaze.