Chapter 412: Her View

Marcus stared at her for a long moment, then scoffed lightly and turned his gaze away, his face unreadable. “Look, to me, Jyn wasn’t some noble dark mage who lost his way,” he said, voice low and edged with steel. “He was a rabid dog with a spellbook and zero conscience. And personally? I can’t stand rabid dogs.”

Serah’s blade was still pointed at him, but her grip had noticeably eased. “So that justifies killing him?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm. “Does taking out monsters like him make you less of a threat to Amthar? Or are you just cleaning up your own mess?”

“Justify?” Marcus raised an eyebrow, then let out a short breath that could’ve been a laugh. “Nah. Him being a walking freakshow was just an extra detail on the profile. I’ve got my own reasons for why I did what I did—and how I did it.” He turned back to face her, that sharp glint still dancing faintly in his dark eyes. “But here’s what I don’t get. Why are you, of all people, looking like you feel sorry for a dark mage? And not just any—Jyn, the sadistic freak who carved people up for fun.”

Serah didn’t answer. Her silence stretched long and heavy between them.

Marcus tilted his head slightly. “But that’s not even the only weird thing here.” He took a slow step forward, his voice dropping into something a little softer, more curious. “You’re a princess—Serah Magna. Daughter of the great King Tharion. Ruler of the Solara Kingdom, who hates my kind with the same passion most people reserve for demons. And yet here you are, still talking to me. Breathing. Letting me breathe.”

He let the words hang for a second, then added, “You almost split me in half when you first showed up, sure. Real warm welcome. But most Solara Knights I’ve met don’t miss the second swing. You? You hesitated.”

He paused, watching her carefully. “You’re different. Way too different. Not like the other knights I’ve fought. Not like the ones who scream ’justice’ while setting fire to villages.”

Then his voice dropped, gentler, as he studied her expression. “And your eyes? Yeah, they say more than enough. They’re not screaming for blood. They’re searching for answers.”

His gaze didn’t waver as he spoke her name like a challenge and a question all at once. “So tell me, Princess Serah Magna… why are you acting so casual with a dark mage you’ve never met before?”

Again, Serah said nothing. But her silence wasn’t empty—it was full of conflict, of old voices echoing in her mind, clashing with the feeling stirring in her chest.

In all her twenty-six years, she had been raised under the rule of her father, King Tharion Magna. And from the moment she was old enough to understand the weight of a blade, she had been taught one thing without compromise: demons were the enemy—but dark mages were no different. In fact, in his eyes, they were worse. Abominations that bore the shape of man, but the heart of evil. And Serah? She had lived by that principle—in action, if not always in heart.

Because deep down, she wasn’t her father. She couldn’t grasp why people with a darker affinity were branded as monsters just for existing. A human was a human, wasn’t it? Whether they bent water, summoned fire, or commanded shadows—weren’t they still human?

Her mother, Queen Seraphine, had shared that quiet belief. But thoughts like that had no power in Tharion’s court. No matter how Serah tried to reason, tried to ask questions, her father’s stance remained unmoved—unyielding like the stone halls he ruled from. So Serah followed his law. She enforced it. But in the spaces between orders, she made her own silent choices.

No, she wouldn’t waste time or breath on a maniac like Jyn. But others—children, the defenseless, the ones with fear in their eyes rather than fire—those, she had let slip through the cracks. She’d turned a blind eye, let them vanish before the others arrived. The knights with no mercy, no conscience. The ones like her father approved of.

And now—here she was. Staring down another dark mage.

Marcus.

Yes, he’d slaughtered the entire Bleeding Smile cult, along with their sadistic leader. And yes, he’d done it with a level of savagery that looked far too much like the cult’s own methods. The bodies, the carnage—it was brutal. Terrifying.

But for some reason—one she couldn’t name—Serah felt no hatred for him. No righteous fury. No need to strike him down.

What she felt instead was a burning need to understand. To challenge him not with steel, but with truth—to know why he chose the path he walked, and why, despite everything, he didn’t feel like the villain she had been trained to kill.

And that… that terrified her more than anything.

It terrified her because it was unfamiliar.

Because for the first time in a long time, Serah Magna—the blade of Solara Kingdom, heir to a throne of golden lies—didn’t know which side she stood on. She wasn’t sure if she should lift her sword or lower it. Her instincts screamed for action, for clarity. But her heart… her heart was whispering something else.

She looked up at Marcus, who stood there, arms crossed, waiting—not smug, not defensive. Just… patient. Like he knew this was where the real battle was happening. Not in the bloodstained chamber behind them. But here. Between them.

Her voice, when it finally came, was low, almost hoarse. “I was raised to kill men like you.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “I figured.”

“My father believes dark mages are demons in human skin,” she continued, gaze fixed on the forest floor. “That they don’t deserve trials. Only a blade.”

“Sounds like a real fun guy,” Marcus muttered.

She ignored him. “And for a long time, I followed that belief. I followed it because I had to. Because he’s the king. Because he’s my father. But I never believed it. Not really.”

She lifted her gaze now, locking eyes with him. “But I couldn’t say it out loud. Not even to myself.”

Marcus studied her in silence, his features unreadable again. But the sharpness in his stance had faded, dulled into something quieter. Something almost… solemn.

“I’ve watched men like Jyn torture and destroy, and yes, I’ve killed without mercy. But I’ve also spared children who weren’t even old enough to understand what mana affinity meant. I’ve lied to knights. Covered up escapes. Broke protocol more times than I can count. And I never told anyone. Not even my mother.”

She stepped forward once, slowly, her boots pressing into the blood-muddied earth. “I used to think that made me weak. That I wasn’t strong enough to follow the code. But now… standing here with you, I think I get it.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”

“That morality isn’t a blade you swing in a straight line. It’s a maze. Full of dead ends, twists, and… darkness.”

A long silence passed. Then Marcus let out a breath—part laugh, part sigh.

“You sure you’re a princess? You talk like someone who’s been in the dirt too long to care about polished speeches.”

Serah smiled faintly. “I’ve spent most of my life covered in blood. Titles don’t matter when you’re knee-deep in corpses.”

Marcus gave a slow nod. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

She looked at him again, this time really looking—at the scars hidden beneath his grin, at the weight behind his jokes, at the boy beneath the man who’d probably seen too much to ever walk a peaceful road again.

And yet he stood. And yet he fought.

And something in her—a truth long buried under years of palace law and battlefield silence—shifted.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “I should’ve killed you. I was supposed to.”

Marcus tilted his head, curious now. “But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” she echoed, eyes narrowing with something sharp and fragile all at once. “Because for the first time, I wasn’t looking at a dark mage. I was looking at a man who… ”

As Serah was still in the midst of finishing her words, Marcus’s head snapped slightly to the side, his gaze cutting into the depths of the forest. His nostrils flared faintly, picking up something—then his eyes suddenly widened.

Before Serah could finish speaking, she felt a body slam into her midsection—not harshly, not violently, but with sudden urgency. It was like being tackled by a gust of wind wrapped in warmth. One second she stood beneath the cascade of falling water—and the next, the world spun.

Now she was crouched behind a tree, just a few paces away from where she had been. The roar of the waterfall was distant. The air here was still and she felt a breath warmed the side of her cheek.

There was a presence behind her.

She felt it—the warmth of a hand over her mouth, and an arm drawn tightly around her upper chest.

Her gaze dropped.

The hand wore fingerless gloves, black as night. Her eyes traced the forearm wrapped around her, then tilted upward. She caught a partial glimpse of a face—serious, sharp, and unmoving—eyes locked ahead with unwavering focus.

It was Marcus.

His hand was firm on her mouth, but not painful. Just enough to keep her silent.

Serah mumbled, her voice low and tense with frustration. Her grip on her sword hilt tightened. But before she could act, Marcus leaned in slightly, his eyes still scanning ahead.

Then came a quiet, sharp shush.

His focus never wavered.

Serah narrowed her eyes and shifted slightly in his hold, twisting her torso just enough to follow his gaze.

And then she saw it.

A spike. Thick, jagged, and deep crimson—pure blood-red—jutting from the ground like a harbinger of death. It had pierced the very spot she’d stood in mere seconds ago.

Her breath caught.

Just one look at that twisted, glistening spike was enough.

She knew what had made it.

A Blood Demon.

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