Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Chapter 283: Attack (5)



He didn't shout. Didn't channel.

He gave.

The blade in his hand didn't require techniques. No names. No flourish.

It took his sunlight, what was left of it, and swallowed it whole.

Then it asked for more.

And Eldrin gave.

His right arm twisted. The nerves inside flared like burning roots. Flesh began to peel. The magic climbed his shoulder, wrapped around his spine. He didn't stop.

'One swing. That's all it takes.'

Dythrael raised his hand.

Not to block.

Just to look.

He was curious now.

Curious.

Eldrin's body screamed.

Blood streamed from his nose.

His vision fractured, but he held the blade tighter.

And swung.

Not wide.

Not flashy.

Just clean.

A single horizontal arc that bisected the entire courtyard in half.

The air exploded. The light reformed, just for a second, into the shape of a full sun cresting the ground. A golden fan carved a kilometer-wide swath straight forward, vaporizing everything in its path.

Everything except Dythrael.

The blast passed through Maeven behind him, who blurred out of the way like he'd known it was coming. Trees, dirt, rock, all gone.

Silence.

The blade in Eldrin's hand cracked.

Then broke.

A soft tink.

The hilt fell.

His right arm went with it.

Collapsed limp at his side, scorched, empty, useless.

He staggered.

Sank to one knee.

Across the ruined earth, Dythrael stood still.

His coat was torn at the edge of the sleeve.

And his left hand was bleeding.

A single line.

A single drop.

He looked at it with a strange kind of curiosity.

Then raised his gaze.

"You gave your arm," he said quietly, "for that?"

Eldrin's breath rattled in his throat.

He couldn't speak.

The light had gone out from behind his eyes.

Dythrael stepped forward.

Not fast.

Just certain.

"You really are willing to die for them, aren't you."

Eldrin said nothing.

Just reached for the stone with his one good hand.

He tried to stand.

Failed.

Dythrael crouched beside him.

"Rest, Sunblade," he said calmly.

Then turned and walked toward the estate.

Toward Melion.

She'd never seen him fall before.

Not once.

Not during the coastal siege. Not when the skyships came. Not even when the firewalls of Solrendel collapsed under a hundred thousand screams.

But now?

Eldrin Sunblade, High King of the Elven Sovereignty, knelt in the dirt like a broken statue. His blade was gone. His arm hung limp at his side, blackened with burned veins and torn muscle. His breath came short.

And Seraphine froze.

Her fingers curled around the hilt of her saber so tight the leather grip creaked.

'No. Get up. You're not done. You never're done.'

But he didn't move.

He just stared at the ground, silent, like he was trying to will the blood back into his body.

The enemy didn't wait.

Maeven stepped between the flames like he owned the world. His white hair fluttered without wind. His coat was ash-stained now, but that smile, lazy, crooked, hadn't changed once. This content was first released on MV_LEMPYR.

She hated that smile.

"I wouldn't," he said, almost conversationally, without looking at her.

Seraphine was already halfway down the stair. "Move."

"You don't really want to do this."

"I do."

"Your liege is crippled."

"Don't need him right now."

"You'll die."

Seraphine rolled her neck once.

The cracking sound was sharp enough to echo off the scorched stone.

"I die on my own time," she said.

Then moved.

She didn't shout. Didn't flare mana.

She blurred forward, blade angled low.

Her affinity surged through her calves, her joints, her balance. No show. Just speed. She moved like she'd trained to fight ten men with one hand tied. Because she had.

She reached Maeven in less than a blink.

He stepped sideways like he was dodging spilled wine.

Her blade missed his ribs by an inch.

The counter came fast.

Not even forceful, just a flick of his fingers, and the air around her bent.

Not air.

Space.

She felt it a half-second too late.

Like gravity changed directions, like her body didn't know where down was anymore.

Her feet left the stone. Her shoulder slammed backward into a wall that hadn't been there a second ago. Then she dropped, the pressure gone.

Her balance rolled. Her stance shattered.

She recovered in a crouch.

Maeven stood with his hands in his coat pockets.

Still smiling.

"You've got good legs," he said.

She exhaled once through her nose.

Then lunged again.

This time she didn't go straight.

She veered left, spun off a crumbling stone ledge, used a short gust to twist over his line of sight.

Her blade arced for his shoulder.

It should've landed.

It didn't.

His hand caught her wrist mid-swing.

Fingers like iron. Like anchors.

Her eyes narrowed.

"How old are you?" she muttered, voice tight.

He tilted his head. "Old enough to know elves always ask that when they lose."

Then he threw her.

Not far.

Just hard.

She slammed back into the broken steps. Coughed once. Blood in her mouth.

The saber fell from her fingers.

She reached for it anyway.

Maeven stepped forward and kicked it aside.

"You've got guts. I respect that. But this isn't your fight."

Her voice rasped. "It is now."

He crouched.

Not close.

Just low enough to meet her eye to eye.

"You really don't know what you're protecting, do you?"

She didn't answer.

Not out loud.

'Protecting my queen. That's all that matters.'

He watched her a second longer.

Then stood. "I'll keep you alive. Consider it a kindness."

And walked past her.

Toward the citadel.

Toward the royal wing.

Toward Melion.

Seraphine pressed one palm to the ground. Her balance still wobbled. Her shoulder was likely dislocated. Her jaw clicked when she moved it.

But her eyes burned.

And she wasn't done yet.

Melion's sandals made no sound on the polished stone, but the silence wasn't calm. It rang with tension, sharp, stretched thin across the breath of every person walking with her.

Three guards, two handmaidens, and the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

They turned another corner. Narrow corridor. Tall arched windows with colored glass, red, gold, and deep green. The morning light filtered in like it didn't know the estate was under siege.


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