Ophelia lifted her eyes to Oliver, a new realization dawning deep within her—perhaps she had never been alone.
This was no longer just a personal battle... but a war for the truth against the shadows.
Meanwhile, inside the halls of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor stood before a senior sorcerer, his voice cold as steel:
"Create me a seal... one that can restrain the spirits, no matter their power."
The sorcerer glanced at the Emperor with a worried look, but the Emperor left no room for doubt, only a faint smile creeping across his face—devoid of warmth. Before departing, he whispered so softly it was barely audible:
"If you're going to play with spirits... then let's play by your rules."
The wind howled atop the bell tower, where the three—Ophelia, Damian, and Oliver—stood facing the city. In their hands, they carried a buried legacy: pages testifying to decades of lies and bloodshed.
Ophelia looked at the papers and said,
"The time has come..."
With terrifying calm, she tore the string binding the documents. They scattered through the air, falling over the heads of the people below. Passersby stopped, picked up the pages, eyes widening—crime after crime, name after name, testimony of massacres blamed on magic, innocent spirits, families erased by imperial decree.
A man shouted, "My father was innocent!"
A woman cried, "That's my brother's name... he was wrongly accused!"
In moments, the city erupted into a storm of fury. Voices rose, and the crowd began moving toward the Imperial Palace.
But when they arrived… there was no one.
The soldiers… the courtiers… even the Emperor—they had all vanished.
Ophelia stood staring at the confusing scene and the deadly emptiness. Her voice trembled as she whispered:
"He's… gone. Where could he have gone?"
Oliver answered, his gaze still fixed on the deserted palace:
"It's okay, we've already cleared the first obstacle."
Then he turned to Ophelia and added with cold confidence:
"Leave him to me. I'll find him."
But Damian spoke quietly, sharply:
"We're not here to give anyone sole credit. We started this together… and we'll finish it together."
Ophelia said firmly:
"We need to split up… cover as much ground as possible. He can't hide forever."
Oliver immediately objected, frowning:
"That's madness. Splitting our forces now is exactly what he wants. We'd be easy targets."
But Ophelia looked at him with confidence:
"If anything happens… I'll summon Damian immediately."
Damian and Oliver exchanged looks, then Oliver nodded reluctantly.
"But be careful… The Emperor isn't just a fugitive. He's a wounded beast, and he'll fight to survive."
And so, each set off in a different direction. Oliver headed toward the royal palaces once used as hideouts, combing them one by one. Damian soared over the capital's skies, searching for any trace of dark energy.
As for Ophelia, she headed toward the northern mountains, where silence was dense and danger hidden… the perfect place to hide.
At the same time, deep within the magical tower fortified by ancient barriers, Emperor Leopold watched them through a crystal orb, clearly showing their movements. He smiled with dark sarcasm and whispered:
"Finally... we succeeded in dividing them."
But that smile didn't last.
Suddenly, a shadow pierced the tower's window. The glass shattered silently, and Damian entered. He stood directly before the Emperor, his expression deadly calm.
In a low voice filled with contempt, he said:
"I thought you were smarter than to hide in an exposed tower... but fine. It's good you spared me the trouble of searching."
Then he stepped forward, his wings fading behind him like smoke, his eyes glowing faintly.
"Did you think an ancient magical barrier would stop me?"
Emperor Leopold burst into hysterical laughter, echoing through the tower walls like cries of madness.
Then, staring at Damian, he said:
"No, I thought you were clever... walking into the tiger's den unarmed? How foolish."
He waved his hand and commanded loudly:
"Bind him."
From the tower's shadows, glowing magical chains inscribed with intricate runes shot out, wrapping around Damian's body in a flash. He tried to resist, summoned his power, but... nothing. He felt nothing. No light, no strength. As if they had vanished.
Damian froze for a moment, stunned by the harsh reality. He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time.
The Emperor approached him with calm, reassuring steps, then bent down and whispered with a devilish smile:
"What do you think now? Who's the fool between us?"
Damian stared at him, his eyes glowing with suppressed rage. Despite being bound, he smiled and said with bitter sarcasm:
"Sealed my power, huh? I always thought you were a coward... now you've proven it."
Leopold kicked him violently, and Damian fell to the ground, the chains making a dull metallic sound.
Leopold said coldly:
"And yet, you still dare to be arrogant? Don't you realize the position you're in? Those fools with you... they're no better off than you."
Damian's heart trembled, his eyes suddenly widening.
"What... what have you done to Ophelia?!"
The Emperor stood before him, his gaze full of malice. He leaned in slightly and said with dripping sarcasm:
"Look at the brave prince... afraid for his lover."
Then straightening up, he added with an icy smile:
"But the only person you should worry about... is yourself."
In the mountains, Ophelia pushed through barren rocks and withered trees, her breath ragged, clothes torn from branches and long running. Behind her, the sound of horse hooves echoed through the valley, drawing closer and closer. She couldn't face them alone—not while separated from Damian.
Finally, she reached the end of the passage—the edge of a towering cliff, with the wind roaring fiercely below. Before her stood dozens of horsemen with hidden faces and drawn swords.
One stepped forward, a tall knight whose armor bore the imperial crown's seal. His voice was cold as ice:
"It seems you've reached your end, Ophelia Carter."
His gaze flicked toward the cliff behind her, then he added:
"I'll be merciful… give yourself an honorable death—jump. Otherwise, we'll tear you limb from limb right here, and you'll end as a faceless corpse."
Ophelia gripped her sword tightly, her hands trembling. She wasn't afraid… she was angry. Angry at the Emperor, his chains, and this cruel world that demands her death just because she sought the truth.
But before she could move…
Oliver was walking calmly through a back alley, heading toward an abandoned hideout, when he suddenly sensed something behind him. He spun around just in time to face swords emerging from the shadows—Imperial knights appearing out of nowhere, dozens of them.
Slowly, Oliver drew his sword, his expression showing not a trace of fear.
"Finally… you've sent your dogs."
The first knight fell before him, then the second. Blood splattered, but Oliver didn't retreat.
One soldier shouted, "It's the Swordmaster! Don't hold back!"
But his voice was cut short as a sword pierced his chest.
Still, their numbers grew. Someone hurled a magical spear at him, which exploded nearby, throwing him to the ground. Oliver struggled to stand, looking at his wounds, breathing deeply, whispering to himself:
"I have to reach her…"
The knights surrounded Ophelia—there was no escape. She stepped back twice, the edge of her cloak whipping the air, the abyss looming behind her.
One sneered:
"Decision time. Slow death or a quick fall?"
Ophelia raised her head, her gaze carrying no surrender but something else… fire beneath the ashes.
She whispered,
"No one decides my death..."
Then, blinking, she plunged her sword into the ground and shouted,
"Damian!!"
But no one came.
She called again, this time with a trembling voice:
"Damian... please…"
The void answered—no shadow, no trace, no warmth.