Chapter 84: The Unexpected Visitor
High above the mountain pass, the crimson-eyed woman went still, her raised finger hovering in the frozen air.
Her gaze shifted away from the frozen threshold, drifting toward the silent, snow-capped peaks miles to the west. There, hidden within the ambient mana of the mountains, a gentle, vast presence was observing the scene with absolute, terrifying calm.
...Why is she here?
Had she been watching the entire time?
A rare tremor passed through the woman’s fingers. Her crimson eyes remained fixed on the distant peaks for several seconds before she finally looked away.
No. Not now. If I confront her here, my plans would be ruined.
The thought came with an unfamiliar hesitation—one she hated enough to immediately suppress.
Her dark robes fluttered against the gale, her crimson eyes reluctantly swept back down toward the threshold, locking onto Ethan one last time.
"Let us meet again..."she whispered into the wind, her curiosity burning stronger than ever.
Her slender hand dropped to her side.
"Ah... so she sensed me."
A soft voice drifted down from the clouds, carrying a hint of amusement. "It was just getting interesting... What a shame."
A light, almost childlike laugh escaped the lips of the Mage Saint. She raised her hand, aiming a spark of azure light toward the crimson-eyed woman’s location, but before the spell could manifest, the woman dissolved into the ambient mana like a phantom, leaving no trace behind.
"Tch..."
The suffocating, sky-crushing weight hovering over the mountain pass vanished in the exact microsecond it had arrived.
The instant the unnatural pressure lifted, time resumed with brutal force.
The momentum of the three committed strikes—already inches from Thorn’s throat—could not be stopped.
CRACK-SWISH!
Peter’s heavy broadsword, carrying the last embers of his crimson aura, cleaved through Thorn’s frozen neck from the left.
Luna’s pure-white frost beam pierced straight through the center of his throat from the right.
Ethan’s dark blade followed through the shattered ice, his newly awakened intent guiding the steel through Thorn’s spine in one flawless thrust.
Thorn’s bloodshot eyes rolled back. His massive head separated from his shoulders and spun across the cobblestones before coming to rest in the dirt. The crimson glow in his eyes faded into absolute blackness as his headless body collapsed, shattering the remaining ice around it.
Steam rose where his blood met the frozen stones, hissing faintly in the cold air, the last heat of the Count’s body fading into the dark.
Silence fell across the pass—sudden, absolute, and total.
"Hah... hah..."
Peter stumbled forward, using the flat of his broadsword to catch his weight as he dropped to one knee. His armor was crushed, blood poured from his lips, and his crimson aura flickered out completely. Beside him, Luna’s white-tinted eyes reverted back to clear blue. The extreme strain of executing the Fourth Form caught up to her in an instant; her knees buckled, and she fell sideways onto the freezing stones, gasping raggedly for air as blood trickled from the corner of her pristine lips.
Thorn’s corpse no longer held Peter’s attention. His gaze had already found Ethan across the wreckage, still standing.
The successor was alive. That was all that mattered.
One soldier stirred first, pushing himself upright with trembling hands. "What... what was that?"
The question broke the silence. Within seconds, voices erupted throughout the pass.
"I couldn’t move!"
"I thought I was dead..."
"Is it gone? Is it actually gone?"
Some soldiers simply dropped to their knees, thanking the God of Life for sparing them. Others stared blankly at the ruined battlefield, still unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Then, from somewhere near the shattered gate, a single voice cut through the confusion.
"Thorn is dead!"
The words rippled outward, soldier to soldier, faster than any order could have traveled.
"Count Thorn is dead! We won!"
The confusion broke apart entirely, swallowed by a rising roar of disbelief and triumph. Swords were thrust into the air. Men who had been shaking with fear seconds earlier now embraced whoever stood nearest, laughing, sobbing, shouting the same words back and forth as though repeating them enough times would finally make the impossible feel real.
"WE WON! WE ACTUALLY WON!"
The eastern sky had fully brightened by then, its first golden light spilling over the ruined fortress walls and illuminating the battlefield that had been drenched in blood only moments earlier. For the soldiers who had survived the night, the sight felt almost unreal.
Ethan stood alone in the center of the threshold, his chest heaving as hot blood leaked through his clothes from his broken ribs. He stared at the severed head of Count Thorn, his vision swimming in a haze of agony and exhaustion.
His legs trembled beneath him, and for a moment the world tilted, the cheering around him blurring into a distant roar.
Moments ago, under that terrifying descent of pure pressure, he had felt the cold, uncompromising shadow of death. Yet, through his unique trait, he had sensed two overwhelmingly powerful presences high above the battlefield—one distantly familiar, the other completely unknown.
Fortunately... Ethan thought silently, his blue eyes narrowing as his fingers tightened around the hilt of the Eternal Sovereign Blade, I didn’t have to use it.
To think my assumption was real... someone was truly pulling the strings beneath Count Thorn.
"Kid!"
From beyond the gatehouse, Rune’s small, silver-white body bounded across the rubble. His blue eyes were wide with anxiety as he rushed to Ethan’s side, pressing his head against Ethan’s blood-soaked leg and whining softly.
Ethan exhaled a ragged breath and reached down to stroke the cub’s head, his fingers curling into Rune’s fur, grounding himself in the small, steady warmth against the chaos still ringing in his ears.
"I’m alright, Rune."
"That was... unbelievable."
The voice came softly from nowhere and everywhere at once, as though the speaker were standing beside them despite being nowhere in sight. It reached only the three of them — Ethan, Peter, and Luna — untouched by distance, unheard by anyone else on the battlefield.
Ethan went still.
Lady Iris.
He knew that voice instantly. He didn’t need to hear her name. The voice alone was enough to confirm it.
Down in the courtyard, the celebration roared on — swords raised, voices hoarse with triumph — utterly untouched by what was unfolding just above them.
Peter’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes darting around the wreckage, finding no one. "Who—"
"My apologies for the fright," the voice continued, threaded with quiet amusement, as though its owner found the whole situation faintly delightful. "I don’t often get to watch something this interesting."
Beneath the voice sat a presence so vast it made the crushing weight from moments ago feel almost gentle by comparison—there and gone, impossible to pin down to any single point in the air. Even Peter, who had faced kings and monsters without flinching, felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
For Ethan, hearing her voice again unleashed a wave of emotions he had spent years burying—anger, unexpected warmth, and a deep, quiet sadness that threatened to crack the composure he had maintained throughout the battle.
He forced every one of them back down.
To her, he was simply an interesting child.
To him, she was anything but that.
"Who are you?" Peter rasped, forcing himself upright despite the pain. His eyes swept across the empty air, but there was no one to see. "Where are you?"
Luna’s breath hitched, her blue eyes searching the empty space in shock.
The Mage Saint...
But why would she be here?
"You," the voice said, warmer now, directed unmistakably at Ethan. "Come with me for a while."
"Wait—" Peter’s voice cracked with alarm. "He’s injured. He needs—"
"I’ll bring him back later," the voice interrupted lightly. "Don’t worry."
Peter’s hand tightened around his broadsword. Every instinct honed through decades of battle screamed at him to intervene, but he had no idea who this woman was or what she wanted with Ethan.
Yet after everything that had happened tonight, one thing was certain—this was not someone he could casually oppose.
Ethan met his eyes and gave a small, steady nod.
Peter reluctantly lowered his weapon.
Ethan felt something gently settle around his shoulder before he could respond.
"Rune," he called softly.
The cub leaped onto him without hesitation, clinging to his shoulder.
Rune’s ears flattened as the unfamiliar azure light surrounded them, but he didn’t struggle. His blue eyes remained fixed on Ethan until the last instant.
A soft azure light enveloped them, and in a single blinding flash, they vanished without a trace.
The mountain pass fell dead quiet once more, at least where the three of them stood.
Across the threshold, the Bluemoon soldiers were cheering, raising their weapons in victory as Commander Valen led the securing of the gatehouse. Corbin and the surviving mercenaries stood among them, equally exhausted, equally relieved—no longer enemies, no longer prisoners, simply survivors of the same impossible night. Somewhere beyond the gate, the remnants of Thorn’s shattered army were already being rounded into submission, though no one in the courtyard had the strength left to think about that yet.
No one in the army had noticed the voice at all. No one had seen the flash of light. To the rest of the world, Ethan had simply vanished into the chaos of the victory.
Luna pushed herself upright amid the celebration, her eyes scanning the battlefield.
Valen. Teresa. Corbin, already overseeing the surviving mercenaries.
No Ethan.
Her stomach tightened, dread pooling low and cold.
Beside her, Peter stared at the empty space where Ethan had stood, his expression unusually grim.
"Where... did she take him?" Luna whispered.
Peter didn’t answer.
His gaze shifted toward the severed head of Count Thorn, then back to the empty cobblestones.
The wind swept down from the peaks, carrying the scent of blood and melting frost. Their strange, powerful visitor was gone, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and the faint echo of her voice.
They had won. The Eastern Fortress had been secured.
Yet neither of them could shake the feeling that something far greater had just begun.