Darius had sacrificed more than just a few people to achieve his ambitions. Sacrifice was a tool to him.
It was efficient, necessary, and, when wielded correctly, invaluable. Others would throw themselves to save him.
He had ordered men to their deaths before, had seen their faces twisted in pain as they bled out. He had never hesitated. Never regretted.
But now, there was no word he hated more.
How could Xion be his sacrifice? No ... He refused to believe it.
Just as he was struggling to form a coherent response, trying hard to wiggle out of Ray’s tight grip, it happened.
A deafening explosion.
The entire ground trembled from the tremor. The huge embers gleamed beautifully as the flames of fire engulfed everything in a golden blaze.
For one brief moment, the battlefield was no longer bathed in darkness but in an inferno so bright it could have swallowed the very night itself.
The sheer force of the blast sent shockwaves rippling through the valley. Even from a distance, Darius felt the heat searing his skin.
And then, the flames snuffed out, consumed by the abyss. They died down just as easily as they had sprung up to life.
Then, the darkness returned.
The world fell into eerie silence.
No one moved. No one even dared to breathe heavily. They were all still scared.
But there was one person who was in extreme shock.
His body, already at its limit, refused to hold him up any longer. He fell to his knees, his fingers curled, his nails digging into the dirt.
His dull gaze was locked onto the spot where Xion had vanished. Exactly where the explosion had illuminated the night sky, and along with it, those flames had burned the last remaining hope.
Ray knelt beside him. The knight captain who could chat despite the time and occasion was utterly silent.
Even if no one dared to say it aloud, the truth was glaringly clear to them.
Their gentle healer, someone who would treat their wounds for free and never looked down on their status, that Lord Xion was ... gone.
The weight of those unspoken words crushed the battlefield heavier than any blade ever could.
"What are you doing?!" A young voice, raw and furious — shattered the stillness.
The purple-haired boy stood amidst the carnage. His small frame was drenched in blood while his hands were gripping a sword too large for him.
His violet eyes burned with unconcealed fury as he glared at them. His entire body shook with anger.
"Go and look for Brother!"
Even when he yelled, no one moved.
Allen, who was standing nearby, silently averted his gaze to the other side.
It was not that they did not want to. But instead of the hope that a child carried, they had seen far too many deaths. With such a big explosion, how could Xion be still alive?
Forget alive, they were not even sure if they could find a single bone to perform the burying ritual.
Unlike all the complex considerations of the grown-ups, Noxian’s train of thought was very simple.
His brother Xion was not a simple person like everyone else. He was an angel. Brother Xion had told him that he wished to cure his grace.
After treating the archduke, I’ll take you with me. You can live the life you want. How about it?
Those were the words Brother Xion said back then, and Noxian had happily agreed.
So, how could an angel break his promise? Of course, Brother Xion would never do that.
But all these people did not want to help him. What if Brother Xion was struggling to return? What if he also twisted his foot like me?
The more he thought, the angrier he became.
Noxian’s chest heaved as he balanced his body with the support of the huge sword he picked earlier.
His gaze skimmed over everyone then, his lips curled in frustration.
"Fine!" He snapped. "I’ll find my brother myself!"
His feet barely supported him, but he moved anyway. One step. Then another. He dragged his limp feet forward, leaving behind a trail on the bloody ground.
"He is dead." A cold, emotionless voice muttered.
Noxian stopped. His purple eyes blazed even more when he stared at his grace.
It was as if Darius was talking about the weather and not about someone as precious as his brother’s demise.
This was the person brother was so worried about that he would not even sleep properly. Noxian was envious of such care. More than once he wanted to replace his grace with himself.
If I get sick, will my brother also worry about me in the same way?
For a moment, he just stood there, his long purple bangs falling over his eyes, hiding his churning emotions.
Luckily, he was not such a thankless person as his grace.
Just as those words fell, Noxian’s fists clenched. His whole body trembled.
"No, he’s not." In his desperation, he even dared to defy the archduke.
"He’s Brother Xion. He won’t die."
Noxian lifted his head, glaring with everything he had. "And I’m going to find him."
Darius’s fingers curled. The words should have meant nothing.
But they did. More than anything else.
Darius actually wished for such childish thinking to be proven true.
Ray’s eyes widened. He knew his grace was telling him to go with Noxian, but how could he leave the archduke in such a vulnerable stage?
What if more orcs came to attack them?
"Your Grace, we need to —"
That word took all of Darius’ strength. He silently pushed his body off the ground and moved toward his tent.
Ray hesitated. But orders were orders. They were meant to be followed and never questioned.
He looked at Allen, nodding for him to tend to His Grace’s injuries before turning away.
Then, without another word, he ran after Noxian while he silently prayed to goddess Myrthia.
Oh, Myrthia, goddess above, I beg you. Ray’s fist clenched; his baby blue eyes shone under the crackle of the burning torch.
Even if I am unworthy, hear me. Please, spare that fool’s life. Take my years, my strength — anything. Just let him live.
Because if he doesn’t ... then my master’s last shred of humanity will die with him.