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Chapter 231: Free ?

As I swung my sword, I felt it—a shiver that pulsed through the blade, crackling with an energy I hadn't expected. The boy's slave mark, bound deep into his skin and soul, fractured, a thin crack spiderwebbing across its twisted lines.

My [

Flame of Equinox

] surged to life, the flickering heat of life and death in perfect balance, coiling around the mark like a predator scenting blood. The flame bit into it, searing and corroding, eating away at the magic's essence as if it were nothing more than kindling.

The boy staggered, a look of shock breaking through his rage as the mark pulsed, weakened, its dark power faltering. Across the room, the Shrouded Whisperer's face twisted in horror, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What… what's happening?" he demanded, his voice a low, panicked rasp.

But I didn't give him a moment to recover. In a heartbeat, I closed the distance, my blade aimed directly at him, poised to end this once and for all. The Whisperer's panic shifted to desperation, and in a flash, he raised a hand, dark energy swirling around his fingers.

"Get away, bastard!"

Before I could strike, his magic burst forth, and the world around me twisted, warping and bending like a fevered dream.

'Tsk….Annoying.'

I blinked, and suddenly, I was standing in a vast, empty space, surrounded by darkness and flickering shadows that danced, mocking, as if they were alive. Illusions wrapped around me, filling the air with disorienting visions, each one shifting, taunting, trying to claw its way into my mind.

'Illusions again.'

For an instant, my vision blurred, the world swaying as the weight of his spell pressed down on me. But I recognized this feeling—the suffocating pressure, the disjointed reality. It was no different from that moment in the vault, the illusion crafted to ensnare, to confuse.

But I had broken through then, and I would do it now.

With a sharp inhale, I steadied my mind, reaching deep within to the

[Flame of Equinox],

feeling its steady burn in my core. The flame surged, cutting through the shadows, burning away the illusion with each pulse. The darkness faltered, cracking like glass, and I saw the edges of reality splintering.

One clean slash and the world shattered around me, the shadows dissolving into nothing as the illusion crumbled. I stepped back into reality, my gaze locking onto the Whisperer, his face pale with terror.

"Again! How can you do it?"

I could see his widened eyes.

"You think mere illusions can stop me?"

The Whisperer's face contorted in panic as he stumbled backward, his voice a desperate shriek. "What are you doing? Come here!" His command echoed through the room, and, like clockwork, the boy—who had been staring in stunned confusion, his hand drifting to the fading mark on his neck—suddenly snapped back to attention. His eyes sharpened, the glint of obedience returning as he positioned himself defensively in front of his master, his body glowing faintly with the magic that held him bound.

From my right, I sensed movement as well. The girl, her mark pulsing with dark energy, was coming toward me, her expression one of strained resistance.

"Lucavion!"

I heard Valeria's warning, and though not needed it was appreciated.

The mark's glow tightened its grip on the girl's neck, forcing her forward, each step controlled by the Whisperer's sinister will.

I smirked, my hand steady on my blade as I prepared for her approach.

Perfect.

She was coming to me herself, giving me a clear shot at her mark.

The girl lunged, but I was faster. My blade flashed, cutting through the air, aimed straight for the pulsing mark on her neck. But this time, she twisted at the last moment, moving to shield her slave mark from my strike.

Clever girl—though I could sense it wasn't entirely her doing. The Whisperer's hold on her was still too strong, his command forcing her to protect her binding even if she didn't fully understand why.

Yet it wouldn't matter. I channeled my mana, the [Flame of Equinox] extending from the edge of my blade like an ethereal arc. My sword grazed her skin, and the flame surged forward, piercing through the dark magic with lethal precision, corroding the slave mark with a ferocious burn.

The girl staggered back, her body shaking as the mark dissolved, freeing her from the Whisperer's control. She blinked, dazed, her expression shifting from fury to something far more vulnerable as her mind cleared. She was free.

But I knew this wasn't over—not with the Whisperer standing there, his eyes darting between the two siblings, frantically calculating his next move. This man, after all, had manipulated them with more than just slave marks. He'd lied to them, woven a story of hostages and captivity, convincing them their families were under his control, held hostage in some hidden village.

The Whisperer's lips twisted into a grimace, his panic bleeding into rage. "You think you can just… just undo everything I've built here?" His voice was shrill, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

"I think you'll find your grip wasn't as strong as you thought," I replied, my voice icy.

He stumbled back further, shouting commands to the boy, trying to summon his last line of defense. "Riken! Remember what's at stake! If you don't protect me, your family—"

The boy, still trembling, met my gaze with a glint of defiance breaking through his confusion.

'Indeed not easy.'

I kind of expected this reaction, so I did not mind.

"Grrr….."

I could see mana rising from the kid's body, as he was about to transform.

"That is right! Protect me or else your whole vil-"

As the Whisperer's voice rose, trying to whip the boy into obedience through fear, I decided I'd heard enough.

"Protect you?" I cut in, my tone cold, slicing through his words. "You're going to need something better than lies to control him now."

The Whisperer glared at me, but I didn't give him a chance to retort. My gaze shifted to the boy, his body trembling as the mana surged within him, his instincts driving him toward transformation, to protect, to survive.

"Riken," I said, my voice calm, steady. "Everything he's told you about your village, about your family… it's a lie."

The boy's eyes flickered, his defiance mixed with confusion, as if he wanted to believe me but couldn't quite let go of the fear the Whisperer had woven so carefully into his mind.

"Don't listen to him!" the Whisperer hissed, his voice laced with desperation. "You know what I showed you—the people in your village, they're still waiting for you, counting on you to obey!"

But I shook my head, my gaze never leaving Riken's. "What he showed you was an illusion," I said, my voice low, cutting through the Whisperer's lies with quiet force. "Your family, your village… they were sold long ago. Everything you saw, everything you've fought for—was nothing more than his magic, binding you with false hope."

The boy's transformation stilled, his form wavering as he processed my words. His hands clenched, his body shaking with a mixture of shock and rage.

"Liar!" the Whisperer spat, his face twisting in fury. "He's lying to you, Riken! Don't let him trick you!"

I took a step forward, ignoring the Whisperer's frantic words. "Think about it, Riken. Everything he's told you… the way he's used you and your sister. Has he ever shown you proof? Have you ever been allowed to see them, to speak to them freely?"

Riken's fists tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor as his mind churned. I could see the doubt spreading, his defiance sharpening into something new, something dangerous—for the Whisperer, at least.

"Riken," I continued, my tone softening, "he's only ever shown you what he wanted you to see. A few images, some sounds—crafted illusions to keep you bound to his will. All for the sake of keeping you as a weapon, nothing more."

The boy's eyes snapped up, fury blazing through the haze of confusion. He turned to the Whisperer, his hands trembling, not with fear, but with pure, unfiltered rage.

"Why? Why should I trust you?"

"That is indeed a good question."

I couldn't help but smile at that.

Trust.

It was indeed not something that could be easily given by those who had gotten a beating from this world at such a young age.

I knew that feeling well.

But, it can get much more worse than that.

Knowing the fact that, all the time that you have put in as an effort…..just for a lie…..

"Mune. Does the name ring any bells?"

That is why.

I will not let these kids experience the same.

Chapter 232: Free ? (2)

"Mune. Does the name ring any bells?"

The boy's eyes widened, his fury momentarily stilled by shock. "Mune…" he whispered, the name tumbling from his lips with the weight of a thousand memories. His gaze locked onto me, his expression raw, desperate. "How… how do you know that name?"

I couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at my lips. "Guess."

At that, he began to shake, his body trembling as my words sank in, tearing through the foundation of lies the Whisperer had built around him. He turned, looking back at the Whisperer with a mixture of horror and hope, his voice breaking. "Mune… and the others… Is it… is it true?"

The Whisperer flinched, his face twisting in frustration as he realized his web of deceit was unraveling faster than he could salvage it. "Don't listen to him!" he snapped, his voice rising in desperation. "This is all part of his plan! He's just trying to confuse you, to weaken you before he strikes! Think, Riken! Remember what I've done for you, for your sister—"

But Riken wasn't listening. The name had shattered whatever remnants of trust he'd held for his master, leaving only doubt and fury in its wake. His eyes searched the Whisperer's face, seeking some form of denial, some hint that this was all just another illusion. But what he found was the unmistakable shadow of guilt.

"Is that….Is that really true?"

*********

–Mugen.

From Riken's perspective, Mugen had been more than just another face in the village—she had been a spark of light in his otherwise harsh, unforgiving world. Beautiful in a quiet, resilient way, Mugen had a warmth that seemed to defy the bitterness of their shared captivity.

Her eyes, a gentle amber flecked with gold, always carried a spark of defiance, a reminder that even in the darkest places, some embers refused to die.

They had grown close in secret moments stolen between training and chores, sharing quiet conversations and fleeting glances that made the grueling days feel almost bearable.

Mugen was patient, soft-spoken, yet fierce in her own way. She would tell him stories of their people—of wild forests and moonlit dances, of freedom and open skies.

She had a way of speaking that made him believe in something more, something beyond the iron grip of their master and the walls that confined them.

To Riken, Mugen was more than a friend—she was his hope. Even when the marks were carved into their skin, binding them to the Whisperer's will, she had kept that fire alive, whispering promises of escape and freedom.

She'd tell him to stay strong, to remember the strength of their ancestors, the pride of the beastkin. And for Riken, she became his anchor, the one thing that made the endless training, the pain, and the obedience bearable.

That was why, even as their village fell, as their kin were shackled and subdued, Riken hadn't succumbed to despair. He had clung to Mugen's whispered promises, to her fierce resilience, and to the belief that, by enduring, he and his sister were fighting for something greater—for their people, for the hope of freedom Mugen had instilled in him.

But there was something else, a secret he had held close, a memory that no one else knew.

In rare, quiet moments, when they were alone, she had allowed him to call her "Mune." She'd smile, a hint of softness breaking through the weariness in her eyes, and it was like a small, private world they shared—one untouched by the brutality around them. She had told him that no one else called her that, that it was something just for the two of them, a reminder that, even in this place, there was a part of her that remained free.

It was a secret only he knew. Not her sister, not any other villager—just him.

And now, in this bloody, twisted room, he had heard that name spoken by a stranger.

Lucavion, most likely was his name, as he had heard the girl shouting just now. Though, he also knew who he was, as he watched this man's matches in the tournament.

It was indeed a weird name, sounded weird….most likely written weirdly.

But, it wasn't important.

What was important right now was how he had said it with a casual certainty, as though it were natural, but Riken knew better. That name meant something only to him and Mugen, something sacred and untouchable.

He stared at Lucavion, a flicker of belief breaking through the turmoil in his heart. This man had spoken her name, had known Mune, his Mugen. A memory flashed through his mind—her smile, her whispered promises, her quiet strength. How could this stranger know about her unless… unless there was truth in his words?

Doubt began to give way to hope, a fragile, trembling hope he hadn't dared to feel in so long.

A flicker of hope kindled in Riken's chest, like a long-forgotten ember reigniting after years of cold darkness. Lucavion's voice had cut through the chaos and shattered the doubts that had haunted him for so long.

Mune.

The nickname that only he knew, the name she had let him call her in the secrecy of their quiet moments together. It had been something small, something private, yet here was this stranger, speaking it as if he had seen her, known her.

But then, as quickly as it came, that hope twisted into something dark and jagged.

If Lucavion knew her name if he had met Mune… how could that have happened? She had been held captive like him, branded with the same marks, bound to the same chains. If he knew her, if he had somehow encountered her, then it could only mean…

Riken's breath hitched, his chest tightening. His mind raced, trying to push the thought away, to fight against the implication that began creeping in.

She was sold. She was sold, like every other slave, like he would be one day if he failed.

The hope in his chest began to turn cold, hardening into something that felt like despair. If Mune had been sold, if she was no longer under the same master, then what had he been fighting for? Every grueling hour of training, every drop of blood, every bruise, every sleepless night had been for her. He had told himself that he was protecting her, that he was enduring this hell so that she would be safe.

But now… now it seemed like none of it had mattered. She wasn't there, not waiting in some hidden corner of their master's stronghold. She had been taken, sold, lost to the void of this world where people like them were nothing more than commodities to be traded.

Why?

The question echoed through him, a bitter mantra. Why had he fought? Why had he obeyed, sacrificed, endured, only to find that it had all been an illusion? His whole existence, the silent promises he had whispered to her when no one else could hear, the endless days and nights filled with pain and hope—it had all been a lie.

His gaze fell, his shoulders slumping as the weight of realization crushed him. The room around him faded, the bodies, the blood, the faces of those watching him… none of it mattered anymore. Everything he'd held onto was slipping through his fingers, leaving nothing but emptiness.

For the first time, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years: helplessness.

'No.'

But that helplessness was something that they couldn't sustain.

Those feelings…..

They were not something that he could easily think of.

A dark, simmering heat began to rise from within him, stirring in the depths of his chest. It started as a faint burn, a flicker of warmth that ignited as his helplessness twisted into something sharper, hotter.

Anger. Pure, unfiltered anger.

He clenched his fists, feeling his nails bite into his palms, drawing blood. The warmth spread, searing through him, consuming the hollow ache left by the realization of Mune's fate. The illusion he'd clung to for so long was gone, shattered into pieces, leaving him with only this raw, pulsing fury.

He could feel it building, a primal rage he had forced himself to suppress, time and time again, for the sake of his people, for the sake of safety, for Mune. He had swallowed his anger, choked on it, buried it deep to become the obedient tool his master demanded. But now, it clawed its way to the surface, roaring to life with the force of a storm.

'It was you….'

His gaze lifted, locking onto the Shrouded Whisperer, who stood there with that same smirk, that cold, detached gaze as if he were untouchable.

But now, Riken saw him not as a master but as a coward hiding behind chains and lies.

The world around him sharpened, every detail vivid—the stench of blood, the flickering shadows, the tension in the air.

This man,

he thought, his body trembling,

was the one who had twisted everything he loved into chains, who had taken Mune and sold her, who had crushed every dream he ever had and left him with nothing but pain.

The fury swelled, overwhelming, uncontainable, each heartbeat driving it deeper into his bones. His vision narrowed, honing in on the Whisperer as if he were the only person in the room. All Riken could feel was the rage flooding him, consuming every fiber of his being, as if the very core of his soul was calling out for vengeance.

A low growl rose from his throat, his muscles tensing as his body began to change, responding to the primal anger surging within him.

He felt his claws extend, his body instinctively drawing on his mana, amplifying his strength, preparing for the strike. This wasn't a calculated decision; it was instinct, pure and unrestrained, demanding retribution for every moment of agony he had endured.

He took a step forward, his eyes blazing with hatred. He would make this man pay, make him suffer as he had suffered, feel every ounce of the pain he had inflicted. The Whisperer had stolen everything from him, and now he would take it back with the only weapon he had left—his wrath.

Chapter 233: Free ? (3)

I watched as Riken moved, his body trembling with raw, untamed fury. The hatred inside him surged, twisting his face into a mask of pure rage, his claws extending, muscles coiling in preparation for a strike that held nothing but vengeance.

The air around him seemed to pulse with his anger, his mana spilling out in waves as if he could no longer contain it.

A part of me understood that feeling, that deep, simmering wrath that came from betrayal and loss. But I also knew what lay on the other side of it.

Hatred only hollows you out,

leaving nothing but an empty shell, a life swallowed by revenge and fury.

I'd seen it happen before, to others, and to myself. And I wouldn't let that fate befall this kid if I could help it.

That was not why I was here.

'These two must have crossed many lines already.'

Being a slave to the dark mage.

It wouldn't be an occupation that one would live their lives cleanly. That much was obvious.

I understood that these kids had crossed a threshold, one they couldn't simply turn back from. Their lives, twisted by captivity and deceit, had left them with scars that couldn't be erased. Normalcy was beyond their reach now.

What they needed wasn't peace but retribution,

a chance to reclaim a measure of control over their shattered lives. That was what I could give them if nothing else.

I shifted my gaze to the Shrouded Whisperer, his hand alight with dark, writhing mana as he snarled in frustration. This man was a 3-star mage by reputation, which should have made him formidable.

But I knew better—he was a dark mage operating on the fringes, with no allegiance to any organization, and that came with limitations. I'd seen enough of his spells to know he relied on corrosion, illusions, and enslavement; his magic wasn't built for raw combat but for manipulation, for bending and breaking others over time. He had spent so long hiding behind his enslaved pawns that he probably hadn't faced a true fight in years.

I took a deep breath, my focus sharpening as I felt the mana gather within me, the [Flame of Equinox] flickering to life, a controlled, simmering heat.

FLICK!

And then with a flick of my hand, I felt the flame bolt rushing forward.

And then it was gone.

The controlled blaze cut through the dark mana surrounding the Whisperer, tearing apart his defenses with swift, searing precision. But I didn't go for the final blow. No, this wasn't my victory to claim. I merely opened the path, clearing the shadows for the one who truly deserved this vengeance.

I stepped back, my eyes shifting to Riken, who stood there, trembling with fury and resolve, his claws extended as he faced the man who had stolen his life and the lives of so many others. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his eyes blazing with purpose, and I knew that he was ready.

"Go," I murmured, nodding toward his fallen master.

Riken took a step forward, his gaze locked onto the Whisperer, his expression unyielding. But before he could move, a voice broke through the silence.

"Riken!" The girl—his sister–Sena, her voice tight with fear and confusion—stared at him, her eyes wide, pleading. "What are you doing? Don't you know… our people are in his hands! He has them, Riken! We can't do this!" Her voice wavered, thick with desperation, clinging to the last threads of the lie they'd been fed.

Riken paused, his face twisting with a mixture of anger and pain as he turned to her. "No," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "They're not. They were never in his hands… It was all a lie, Sena." His voice cracked as he continued, each word heavy with the weight of a shattered belief. "I know because he didn't know… he didn't know Mune."

The girl's face softened, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Mune? Who…?" She didn't understand, couldn't, because she hadn't shared that part of her brother's life. But as she looked into Riken's eyes, seeing the raw certainty there, something in her shifted. She took a shaky breath, the trust she had in her brother slowly overpowering her fear.

Riken took another step forward, his gaze shifting back to the Whisperer, his expression hardening once more. "You took everything from us. You stole our hope, fed us lies… and you thought we'd never know." His voice was cold and steady, the fury within him focused, deadly.

The Whisperer tried to scramble backward, his hands grasping at the dark mana around him, but his spells faltered, his illusions shattering in the face of Riken's unrelenting rage.

This was Riken's moment, a chance to reclaim his life from the ashes of everything this man had burned down. And as he closed the distance, I stepped back, letting him take what he needed.

[Are you sure?] Vitaliara's voice echoed in my mind, laced with a trace of caution. I knew she could see things I couldn't—the lingering karma that clung to these two, the weight of choices they'd been forced to make even in their youth. She could sense that they weren't like other children; their lives had already been marked by darkness, their paths altered in ways that couldn't easily be undone.

I nodded to myself, letting out a quiet breath

. 'No, I'm not sure,'

I admitted, my gaze steady on Riken as he closed in on the Whisperer, a storm of resolve in his every step

. 'But I can't think of a better way for them to find closure. This man took everything from them, shaped them through lies and chains. If I deny them this…'

I hesitated, feeling the weight of it.

'They could be lost forever.'

Vitalara's voice softened, thoughtful. [Sometimes, vengeance is a hollow thing, Lucavion. But I understand… You're giving them a choice they never had before.]

'Exactly,'

I replied.

'This isn't just vengeance for them; it's a chance to reclaim something that was stolen. They deserve that much.'

Riken's sister, Sena, watched in silent awe, her hands trembling, yet she didn't move to stop him. The bond of trust between them ran deep, deeper than the fear instilled by the Whisperer's lies. And Riken—his face was filled with a quiet, determined rage as he raised his claws, finally ready to take back the life that had been stolen from him.

The Whisperer tried to cast, tried to summon whatever dark energy he had left, but his hands trembled, his spells unraveling against the strength of Riken's will. I stepped back, letting Riken finish what he needed to.

Let this be the moment he takes control,

I thought, feeling Vitaliara's presence steady beside me in agreement.

Riken advanced, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each step a silent promise of retribution. The Whisperer's eyes widened, his expression flickering between disbelief and fury as he stared at the boy he had once controlled, now defying him with an unyielding, cold rage.

"How dare you go against me!" the Whisperer spat, his voice trembling with indignation. "How dare you, Riken! Who do you think you are?" His hands scrabbled at his sides, clawing for the remnants of his failing power. "I'm the one who raised you, who gave you strength, power! Everything you have—you owe it all to me!"

But Riken's gaze remained steely, unflinching, and he didn't falter. The boy took another step forward, his fists clenched, his every movement filled with purpose.

The Whisperer's face twisted, his eyes glinting with scorn. "So what if a bunch of useless beasts were sold?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "What does it matter? They were nothing—worthless, expendable! You should be thanking me, you and your sister. I gave you purpose. I made you more than what you were!"

Riken paused, his claws flexing as his face contorted in disgust. The words sank in, stirring memories of every grueling hour of training, every lie, every forced act of obedience. His shoulders shook, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked upon the man who had stolen his life and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

"You took everything from us," Riken said, his voice low, barely more than a whisper, but filled with a venom that made the Whisperer shrink back. "Our family, our home, our chance at freedom… All of it, for your twisted games." He took another step, and the Whisperer stumbled, a flicker of fear finally breaking through his haughty demeanor.

"I'm not your weapon," Riken continued, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "I never was."

The Whisperer opened his mouth to speak, to snarl, but Riken didn't give him the chance. With a swift movement, he struck, claws slicing forward, the culmination of every ounce of pain, every betrayal, poured into that single blow.

The Whisperer let out a strangled scream as he fell, his face twisted in shock and horror. And as his body hit the ground, the silence that filled the room was heavy, final—a quiet victory for the two children whose lives had been stolen.

Riken stood over him, breathing heavily, his expression torn between relief and grief. The weight of his freedom settled over him, both liberating and painful as if every scar and memory he'd endured had finally found its place.

Sena approached, her eyes wide, her hands still shaking as she reached out to her brother, wordlessly acknowledging the end of their torment. I watched them, allowing them their moment, hoping that this would be the first step toward healing, toward reclaiming the lives they'd been denied.

This was their choice,

I thought, feeling Vitaliara's silent approval.

And perhaps, it's the only way forward.

Chapter 234: You did well

Valeria stood still, her grip loose on her sword.

'Just what?'

Her eyes lingered on the young siblings, Riken and Sena, standing poised to strike, their expressions laced with pain so deep it seemed to weigh down their every movement. She could feel it as though it were her own—their sorrow, their fury, raw and uncontained, directed entirely at the man before them.

Her chest tightened, almost aching, as she took in the way they looked at the Whisperer, faces contorted with hatred far too vast for children to bear.

'How could they be so young… and yet look at him that way?'

she thought, her gaze shifting to Lucavion. And when she saw him, her breath caught.

Gone was the usual smirk, the casual indifference he wore like a shield. Instead, his face was drawn, eyes shadowed with something she couldn't quite define. Not amusement, not anger—something else entirely. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and in his gaze, there was a sadness that made her heart pause.

'He looks… sad?

' The thought unsettled her, conflicting with the image of him she had known so far. Lucavion had always seemed invincible, untouchable. He wore his lightheartedness like armor, wielding it in even the darkest moments, as if to keep himself detached from the horrors around him. But now…

The memory of him at the marketplace flashed through her mind, unbidden—the way he'd looked at the dumpling. It had struck her as odd then, the way he'd paused, eyes softened, as if seeing something beyond the bustling crowd around them. That same expression was here again, though even heavier, more burdened.

'He's wearing that look again… like he's lost in some memory,'

she realized.

'But what could he see in them, in Riken and Sena, that makes him look like this?'

Her gaze drifted back to Riken, whose claws glistened in the dim light as he took a step forward, his body trembling with barely contained fury. Valeria felt a strange kinship with the siblings' rage, something primal and bitter. They had been robbed of everything, twisted by pain, and forced to bear a burden far beyond their years.

'Perhaps that's why he looks at them that way,'

she thought, her own heart aching with a reluctant understanding.

'Does he see himself in them somehow? A part of him he keeps hidden… beneath all the arrogance, the endless games?'

For the first time, Valeria wondered what lay beneath Lucavion's smirk, what scars he might carry—scars hidden behind layers of nonchalance and witty remarks. She'd always assumed he was nothing but trouble, too reckless and self-centered to care for anyone but himself. But here, she could feel the weight of something much deeper, something she doubted he'd ever share.

'Who are you really, Lucavion?'

she wondered, her gaze lingering on the faint sorrow in his eyes, the way he seemed to retreat into his own memories as he watched the scene unfold.

"You...you…."

Her thoughts were interrupted as Riken's growl filled the room, low and deadly, his claws poised, ready to strike down the man who had stolen their lives. Lucavion's hand fell to his side, as if in a silent gesture of permission, or maybe… respect.

Riken's growl rumbled through the room, a sound raw with agony and rage, resonating in the silence. His claws glistened in the dim light, and he took a step forward, his trembling frame coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The Shrouded Whisperer, once smug and self-assured, was now reduced to a cowering figure, his haughty gaze broken, his body pinned by the weight of his own sins. And yet, there was no trace of mercy in Riken's expression—only fury, untamed and violent, begging to be unleashed.

Without warning, he struck. His claws slashed across the Whisperer's face, leaving dark, jagged marks in their wake. Riken's strikes were relentless, each one more vicious than the last as if each swipe was erasing a fragment of the torment he had endured. He struck again, his hands raw with blood and fury, his breath ragged.

"You took everything!" Riken's voice cracked, hoarse with years of suffering he could no longer keep in. "Our lives… our family… everything! You made us nothing!"

With each word, his strikes grew faster, each blow breaking apart another layer of hatred that had festered inside him for so long. The Whisperer, feeble and desperate, tried to shield himself, but there was no strength left in him, no power left to conjure illusions or manipulate. The truth had left him defenseless, naked before the very children he had twisted and controlled.

Valeria watched, her pulse racing, transfixed by the torrent of Riken's fury. And as he poured his pain into every blow, something snapped within Sena as well. Her small, shaking frame seemed to harden, her face twisting with a resentment that had once been silenced, buried. She stepped forward, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing with a light Valeria hadn't seen before.

"You lied to us!" Sena's voice, though small, was sharp, cutting through the air with a force that belied her size. "You made us believe… you made us do all those things!" Her fists flew forward, striking the man's side, each hit fueled by years of betrayal and bitterness, every one a testament to the lies she had carried within her fragile, young heart.

The Shrouded Whisperer tried to speak, his mouth opening in a desperate, stuttering attempt to defend himself, but Sena's strikes silenced him. She hit him again, her anger bursting forth in waves, like a dam finally breaking, the water spilling out with unstoppable force.

Valeria felt herself drawn into their anguish, the unrestrained outpouring of resentment and hurt that these children, too young and yet too burdened, could no longer keep contained. Each blow they struck resonated with the echo of suffering Valeria had only begun to understand. It was as if they were not just hitting him but ridding themselves of every illusion, every haunting memory he had ever crafted.

Riken's fists, bloodied and bruised, finally slowed, his body swaying as if drained by the weight of his own rage. Sena stood beside him, her breaths shallow, her face streaked with tears, her small body shuddering as the reality of what they had done began to settle in.

The room fell silent, the sound of their gasping breaths filling the stillness. And as they looked down at the man who had haunted their every nightmare, they saw not the monster he had once been, but a broken, feeble figure—his power drained, his influence shattered.

"Haaaah…..Haaaaah….."

The children's breaths came in heavy, ragged gasps, their hands and arms streaked with blood, yet they stared down at the man before them with blank, unseeing eyes. Their faces were still twisted with residual anger, but they didn't seem to care about the blood and didn't flinch from the sight. It was as though this violence, this aftermath of broken bodies and crimson-streaked hands, was a scene they'd encountered too many times before. That thought sank heavily into Valeria's mind, stirring something raw and unfamiliar inside her.

She clenched her fists, an unsettling frustration rising within her.

'What kind of world forces children to become this… hardened, this resigned to cruelty?'

she thought, her chest tightening.

'Is this what it means to be strong? To grow used to blood, to numb yourself against pain and loss?'

The question unsettled her, but the truth in it gnawed at her all the same. She had trained to be a knight with honor, to defend the innocent, to uphold justice. Yet here she stood, unable to stop these children from exacting their revenge in the most brutal way imaginable, unable to shield them from the violence they had been forced to live. It made her stomach turn.

'What kind of knight am I,'

she wondered bitterly,

'if I cannot even protect children from this suffering?'

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't notice Lucavion's move. He took a single, silent step forward, his gaze fixed on the siblings, his expression as unreadable as ever. But something about the way he moved, slow and deliberate, caught her attention and pulled her from her tangled thoughts.

Valeria turned to him, her brow furrowing.

'What is he doing now?'

she wondered, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate his next move.

Lucavion approached the two children slowly, each step careful, as if he were approaching something fragile. Riken and Sena, still breathing heavily, turned their heads towards him. Their faces, twisted in rage and grief, seemed frozen in that expression, as if they had forgotten how to be anything else. But Lucavion didn't flinch; instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out, and he lifted it gently to rest on their heads, his touch light, almost cautious.

"You did well."