╭╼❖ Chapter Thirteen ❖╾╮
The King's Domain, the sword's gift to the duelist, or rather, the sword's acknowledgment that its master is worthy of ruling it, It is a power granted only to those who have reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship, It grants them:
Complete control over their breathing, allowing them to preserve their strength in prolonged battles.
A sharpened combat instinct, guiding their strikes with such precision that their blades seem to move in accordance with their absolute will.
Total unity with their swords — so that the blade is no longer a mere weapon, but an extension of their body and soul.
A profound awareness of the battlefield, enabling them to perceive the smallest details within their domain, as though they possess a sixth sense in combat.
It is not merely a skill. It is proof that the sword has chosen its master — and crowned him king upon the battlefield.
In that moment, Viserys was faster. Stronger. He controlled that fragment of the world entirely.
Simply put… he became the dominant force.
Aiber the Tall moved—
But Viserys was far faster.
In a single instant—
Aiber's steel blades were severed cleanly in half.
Aiber did not understand what had happened until he saw his broken blade fall to the ground, his eyes widening in terror.
But that was not all.
At the very same moment he clashed with Aiber, Viserys unleashed a mass of lightning directly toward the Fourth Minister.
Everything happened too quickly. The Fourth Minister had no time to react.
A scream tore through the air—
The lightning pierced his body. His garments shredded. His muscles burned. And suddenly—his hand was sent flying.
The Fourth Minister, who moments earlier believed himself victorious, collapsed to the ground screaming in agony, staring at the place where his hand had been, his face twisting into a mask of horror and disbelief.
As for Viserys—
He stood there, breathing heavily, his body barely enduring the strain of battle.
Yet he did not fall.
He did not retreat.
He raised his sword once more and looked upon his enemies with the gaze of a true king.
Rosaria had always known that the Commander of Knights, Viserys, was a great man — a knight unlike any Wisteria had ever known.
But now, as she watched him…
She saw something else.
Something she had never imagined.
What stood there was not merely a great man.
It was a living legend.
A man without blessing. Without overwhelming magic.
And yet he surpassed the finest of the elves… and defeated the infamous mercenary captain?
It was the stuff of fantasy.
As for Idian—
He watched everything in silence, tears falling without sound.
He did not scream.
He did not even attempt to move.
Deep inside, he understood—
He was powerless.
The power he possessed, the blessing he had discovered only days ago — he did not know how to wield it.
Everything was beyond him.
Far beyond him.
Aiber the Tall, that coward who had always boasted of his strength, the moment he saw the Fourth Minister fall—
Fled without hesitation.
At last—
The battle ended.
Viserys drew a deep breath. Sweat and blood ran down his brow. He smiled faintly, then with heavy steps approached the writhing body of the Fourth Minister, attempting to bind him with magical chains.
But suddenly—
A sword descended from the sky.
It was not merely a strike.
It was a sentence of execution.
"No—!"
Viserys tried to move.
But his body did not respond.
He was exhausted.
Spent.
Too late.
Rosaria and Idian collapsed instantly, unconscious.
Viserys raised his head with difficulty and looked at the figure standing above the blade.
And then—
That man…
He was not merely an opponent.
Not merely another enemy.
He was the First Minister.
Fairndil Altherion.
He was not merely a minister.
He was a legend.
His mere presence rivaled that of the Elven King himself.
It was said he bore the "Blessing of Life."
Yet he also commanded the "Magic of Withering."
The man rumored to be capable of erasing an entire nation with a single touch.
Before Viserys could utter a word, he felt his body give way. Darkness crept into his vision—
And he collapsed unconscious.
---
Fairndil stood over their bodies, gazing indifferently at the chaos before him.
He approached Sorezia Alphanor, the Fourth Minister, and observed his miserable state—blood covering his body, breath uneven, hand severed, fear filling his eyes.
Fairndil looked at him with disdain and said:
"How disgraceful."
His voice was cold.
It carried neither mercy nor anger.
Only contempt.
"To be defeated by a mere human?"
"Worse than that… a subordinate of the tyrant Martin?"
He closed his eyes briefly, then continued in a mocking tone:
"It was not even Martin himself… and yet you fell like this?"
He sighed, then turned toward the empty air.
"Hmm… let us see what Ikbert can do with such injuries."
Without visible effort, he lifted the Fourth Minister's body with one hand.
With the other, he seized Viserys.
Then he turned toward the young boy, Idian.
He stared at him for a long moment…
Then calmly took hold of him as well.
And flew away.
During this—
Martin had already reached the Red Vampire Forest and emerged from it, heading toward the Kingdom of Wisteria...