The snowflakes fell one by one on Aster, melting as they touched his skin. A biting wind howled across the mountain, each gust threatening to rip him off his feet, but he didn't care. His focus was fixed ahead—on the figure standing in front of him.
It was always the same. That man… looking down on him.
But Aster didn't lose himself to emotions. His eyes swept the surroundings, taking everything in, searching for answers.
Why are there no guards with him? And why did he have to kill my men just to steal their clothes? The mission briefing only mentioned a traitor from the Veyrath Ashvane family escaping into these mountains… but never said who.
Then, he saw it. That smirk creeping onto Damiond's face.
It can't be… He's the traitor? Aster's heart sank at the thought, but he dared not say it aloud. If he was wrong, those words could be his last.
In that instant, Damiond moved forward.
"I guess I have to fight him after all," Aster muttered, his voice low, chilling.
His two bodyguards tensed, stepping to his side as Damiond closed the distance.
But Damiond was faster. He lunged in, his sword slicing through the air—clang!—as Aster blocked. The impact rattled through his arms, bones creaking under the pressure. It felt as if they might snap at any moment.
Seeing their young master falter, the blonde guard moved swiftly. His sword arced from the right, slipping past Aster to aim straight for Damiond's head.
But Damiond ducked low, evading the strike effortlessly. His foot shot out, slamming into Aster's ribs. Before Aster could react, a second kick struck his side, sending him crashing to the ground.
The world spun. His vision blurred. By the time he regained consciousness, the masculine guard was holding him up, and the blonde soldier was still locked in a desperate battle against Damiond.
How… how is Damiond so strong? Aster's thoughts swirled with disbelief. Sure, Damiond had always been trained, but all nobles were. He was supposed to have only unlocked his aura this year, after his punishment. Aster had been an aura user for two years and had already reached Acolyte Expert, an achievement most considered extraordinary.
SMASH! The blonde soldier slammed into a nearby rock, grunting in pain. His left shoulder was twisted unnaturally.
But there was no hesitation in his eyes. He clenched his fists, face hard with determination, as a green aura poured from his body. It seeped out like gas from a cracked container, swirling in the air with no scent, no heat—just raw energy.
Then, in a single motion—slice—he cut off his own left arm. Blood poured freely as the severed limb shimmered, turning entirely green… and vanished into thin air.
His aura thickened, denser, sharper—but it wasn't the same wild intensity as Damiond's. It felt controlled, precise… deadly.
Damiond's eyes narrowed. He sensed another aura off to the left, weaker, a faint blue glow. But it wasn't strong enough to matter—he ignored it.
The blonde soldier lunged, his speed warping reality itself—the snowflakes seemed frozen in the air.
His blade flashed, aiming for Damiond's head. But at the last moment, Damiond tilted his head, the sword slicing only a few strands of his hair.
The masculine guard dove from above, thinking Damiond exposed.
But Damiond exhaled sharply, unleashing his aura in a violent burst. It hit like a wave, denser than both of theirs combined, crushing their energy instantly.
In a blur, Damiond focused his aura into his sword, and with one clean slash—not even making physical contact—the masculine soldier's body split apart midair.
Blood rained down as the upper half of his corpse crashed onto the snow between Damiond and the blonde soldier.
A howl of rage escaped the blonde soldier's throat, raw hatred burning in his eyes. He charged, fists clenched, fury fueling every step. His strikes came hard, wild, but there was no precision left, no discipline.
Rage blinds you… Damiond thought coldly. People always believed anger made them stronger. But Damiond knew better—he had paid the price for losing control before.
A mocking smirk spread across his face as he weaved through each clumsy attack. The blonde soldier's composure shattered. With a final roar, he swung recklessly with all his strength.
Damiond anticipated it perfectly. He dodged, stepped in, and drove his foot into the soldier's stomach, sending him crashing backward. Blood spattered across the snow.
The blonde soldier slammed into a tree, its trunk cracking beneath the impact. He slumped at the cliff's edge, his body battered and broken.
"He… recently became a father… he was finally happy after so long…" the soldier choked, blood spilling from his mouth. His voice cracked with sorrow. "But I doubt… a monster like you… even knows what happiness feels like."
Damiond's expression didn't falter.
"What about the families of the soldiers you abandoned? You came here to kill me… and now you're angry I fought back?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the storm. "Make up your mind. You're more of a child than I am."
He was no stranger to the hypocrisy of noble families. He had lived in it his whole life.
The blonde soldier staggered to his feet, barely gripping his sword, determination burning in his eyes.
But in that moment—a blade flew through the air—shunk!
The sword pierced clean through his body, from right to left. His mouth opened in shock as blood trickled down his chin.
"You… young mast—" His words died in his throat as he collapsed, tumbling over the slope into the darkness below.