꧁ ✦ Chapter Ten ✦ ꧂
The minister staggered to his feet, blood running down his body, trembling—not from pain, but from shock. His lips barely managed to shape the words:
"How… could I have overlooked this? How could I… fall to the hand of a mere human?"
But rage rose sharper than doubt. With a scream that shook the hall, he raised his arms to the heavens and roared:
"Inferno Cyclone!"
The chamber erupted in fire. A storm of flames burst outward, engulfing the air itself, hemming Viserys in from every direction. The atmosphere grew thick and suffocating, as though the fire meant to swallow the world whole.
Yet Viserys did not flinch. No hesitation touched his eyes. He lifted his hand, and his deep voice thundered:
"Execution Blade!"
From the skies, a bolt of lightning crashed down, forged into the shape of a colossal sword—the wrath of humanity itself. It tore into the raging inferno, lightning and fire colliding in a storm of raw destruction. Then, in a single instant, the flames were gone—devoured, erased by the merciless strike.
The Fourth Minister froze in disbelief.
Impossible. His magic—his flames—swallowed in an instant. Was it cursed chance? Or was this mortal's power truly greater than his own?
Fear rooted him to the ground.
Viserys advanced, his sword glowing with deadly light, his steps steady, cold, inevitable. He didn't even need his magic anymore—the blade alone would finish it.
And then… he stopped.
The sword did not fall. It hung in the air for a heartbeat, frozen—until—
A blade pierced through his chest.
Time broke. The world fell silent.
The weapon belonged to none other than the Warlord of the Black River mercenaries—Iber the Tall.
A cruel smile twisted Iber's face as he leaned toward the minister, voice dripping with mockery:
"You stupid minister… do you ever finish a job?"
The wind wailed like the lament of lost souls, scattering the ashes of forgotten wars across the battlefield. Above, the sky turned ashen gray, ready to embrace the blood about to fall.